










THE FIRST FRUITS 







By Permission Perry Pictures Company, Copyright, 1908, by Eugene 
A. Perry, Malden, Mass. 

EASTER MORNING. 





THE FIRST FRUITS 

AND OTHER POEMS 


By 

KATE TUCKER GOODE 

I I 



New York Chicago Toronto 

Fleming H. Reve11 Company 

London and Edinburgh 












Copyright, 1914, by 
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 



New York: 158 Fifth Avenue 
Chicago: 125 North Wabash Ave. 
Toronto: 25 Richmond Street, W. 
London: 21 Paternoster Square 
Edinburgh: 100 Princes Street 

JAN 30 j9(5 

©Cl. A 3!) 1 517 


CONTENTS 


The First Fruits 

• • 

7 

Miscellaneous : 

A Failure 


5 i 

A Paradise Blossom 


52 

He Walked With God . 


54 

Caleb’s Daughter 


57 

Rizpah .... 


62 

A Woman’s Complaint 


64 

To a Very Old Mirror in a 
ing-Room . 

Draw- 

66 

The Deserted Fountain . 


69 

The Dream Angel . 


72 

The Four-Leaved Clover 


73 

Ploughed Under 


75 

Purity .... 


76 

To a Sea Shell 


78 

The Dreamer 


80 

They Shall No More Go Out 


81 

The Ripened Wheat 


82 

Rest at Evening 


84 

The Flight of the Wild Geese 


86 

The Return of the Buffalo 


88 

Asleep .... 

• • 

90 


5 





6 CONTENTS 

By the Grave of a Child . . 93 

The Spirit’s Blindness ... 95 

The Evening Star at Sea . . 97 

In Memory of John Howard Payne . 98 

A Rose-Bush in a Garden . .101 

The Galilean Fishers . . . 103 

Two Queens ..... 105 

Let the Flowers Go Wither . . 106 

Ye That Are Strong . . .108 

Elisha by the River . . . no 

Songs . . . . . . .112 

Length of Days . . . .114 

Outward Bound . . . .116 

The Finding of a Star . . .118 

III. Virginia’s Flower . . . *123 

IV. A Princess of Virginia . . . 




I 


The First Fruits 





THE FIRST FRUITS 


(IN THE GARDEN) 

I 

Jesus saith unto her , Woman , why zveepest thou ? whom 
seekest thou ? She , supposing him to be the gardener , saith 
unto him , *S 7 r, ip thou have borne him hence , tell me where 
thou hast laid him , 1 will take him away . 

Where turned he first his newly-risen feet ? 

Towards that bright city where the base is gold, 

And as it were transparent glass, the street, 

And every several gate, a pearl ? Behold, 

He standeth where the stone was late unrolled : 

“ Whom seekest thou ? ” Thus in the dawn-light dim, 
He seeketh her who, weeping, seeketh him. 


The old, sad question no more quivereth 
Upon our lips unanswered, “ Will the dew 
Of memory dry amid the dust of death, 

Love’s stricken leaves fall, withered, where they grew, 
The old things be less precious for the new ? ” 

Lo, in the garden, in the dawn-light dim, 

He seeketh her who, weeping, seeketh him. 

9 


IO 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


II 

She, supposing him to be the gardener, saith unto him , Sir, 
// thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid 
him, and I will take him away. "Jesus saith unto her, Mary. 

/ 

We do but cherish idle fears, to ask 
If when, glad and immortal, we arise, 

The spirit’s wine poured into its new flask, 

And meet the light of well-beloved eyes, 

We shall know and be known. Upon this wise 
It happened in the garden : Jesus saith 
Unto her, “ Mary.” Memory past death. 

What need we more ? He hath of them that slept 
Become the first-fruits, and if he arose 
With recognition, swift, unerring, kept 
Beyond the grave, shall not we, too, disclose 
Life’s sure discernment after death’s repose ? 

“ Woman,” he saith, “ why weepest thou ? ” He saith 
Unto her, “ Mary.” Memory past death. 

III 

Jesus saith unto her , Touch me not , for I am not yet 
ascended unto my Father, but go to my brethren , and say unto 
them , I ascend unto my Father , and your Father, and unto 
my God, and your God. 

Not unto king, or prince, or potentate, 

The lord of life his earliest message sends; 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


11 

Not to the crowds that hailed his royal state 
With loud “ Hosannahs ! ” He his love commends 
To his remembering and mourning friends; 

“ Go to my brethren.” Simply chose he then, 

His very own from all the ranks of men. 

The flower that closeth in the evening light, 

Will ope its petals to the morn’s bright ray; 

The bird that sitteth silent in the night, 

At dawn will sing again its joyous lay; 

Shall love’s bloom close forever, and alway 
Its song be hushed ? How simply chose he then, 

His very own from all the ranks of men. 


IV 

And as they went to tell his disciples y behold, Jesus met 
them, saying , All hail . 

When from the tomb in sore dismay they fled, 

What time for fear their hearts within did fail, 

How soothingly upon their spirits fell 

The simple words he spake to them, “All hail ! ” 

No accent strange, no unknown tongue, to veil 
His human speech : “ All hail! ” ’twas thus he said, 

The first man who hath risen from the dead. 

And when from empty tombs we shall turn back, 

And voices that we hear not now, shall reach 


12 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Our ears in salutation, will they lack 
Remembered utterance, familiar speech, 

Or old, accustomed converse? Christ will teach 
Our troubled hearts: “All hail! ” ’twas thus he said, 
The first man who hath risen from the dead. 


V 

And when they went to tell his disciples f beholdy Jesus met 
them y saying, All hail. And they came and held him by the 
feet, and worshipped him. 

Their ears have heard his voice, but on the air 
That sound may die; their eyes have seen his face, 

But that glad vision, mocking their despair, 
into the dawn may fade. O crowning grace 
Of sovereign gentleness ! A little space 
That fervent clasp faith’s feeble lamp may trim; 

They held him by the feet, and worshipped him. 

Those feet to which, dust-stained and travel-worn, 

Life’s peaceful tents had oft their rest refused; 

Those feet earth’s sharpest thorns ofttimes had torn, 
Those feet earth’s roughest stones ofttimes had bruised; 
Those feet, pierced with the nails that hate had used; 
That reverent clasp faith’s feeble lamp may trim ; 

They held him by the feet, and worshipped him. 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


13 


VI 

Then said Jesus unto them y Be not afraid: go tell my 
brethren that they go into Galilee , and there shall they 
see me . 

In childhood he had dwelt at Nazareth; 

He had been called of men, a Nazarene; 

At Cana, he had crowned, through Mary’s faith, 

With his first miracle, the marriage scene; 

But had not death’s dark shadow come between 
Those sacred roofs, and his dulled memory ? 

“Go,” he commanded, “ into Galilee.” 

Along the shores of old Gennesaret, 

He had called those who followed where he led : 

There with the multitudes he oft had met; 

There he had healed, and cleansed, there he had 
spread 

For them the broken loaves, and living bread; 

Had not death’s shadow dulled that memory? 

“Go,” he commanded, “into Galilee.” 

VII 

Then said Jesus unto them y Be not afraid; go tell my 
brethren that they go into Galilee , and there shall they 
see me. 

O Galilee, thine every stone and clod 
Bear yet the impress of his sacred feet; 


14 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Thy grass still bendeth where his sandal trod, 

And still the hearts of thy red lilies beat 
Empurpled, where his footstep passed; ’tis meet 
That thou shouldst keep thy love for him; but he — 
Hath he through death kept his old love for thee ? 

Thy sparrows, two sold for a farthing, wake 

The memory of him ; more richly shine 

Thy grapes, thy figs, thy ripe wheat, for his sake; 

And evermore his bygone touch divine, 

Shall change thy trivial water-drops to wine : 

« 

O land, keep thou thy love for him, for he 
Hath kept through death his olden love for thee! 

VIII 

Then saith Jesus unto them, Be not afraid: go tell my 
brethren that they go into Galilee, and there shall they 
see me. 

Who loved, through death, the olden places best, 

The well-known shore, the well-remembered sea, 

Will not prepare a city all unblest 

With sights familiar: its fair stones shall be 

Jasper, sapphire, and chalcedony; 

And to its walls the builder’s hand will bring 
Earth’s gold, its pearl, its every precious thing. 

The temple on Moriah guarded well 

The ark that journeyed through the Sinnian sands; 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


15 


The manna that within the desert fell, 

The rod that blossomed mid the rebel bands, 
Were placed before the ark by God’s commands; 
And to that city will the builder bring 
Earth’s gold, its pearl, its every precious thing. 


IX 

The?i said Jesus unto them , Be not afraid; go tell my 
brethren that they go into Galilee , and there shall they 
see me. 

“ Go tell my brethren ” ! Shall we fear to take 
The comfort wherewith we are comforted 
Of God? To know that when death’s wind shall shake 
Love’s leaf,'the vine shall cling? That ’neath death’s 
tread, 

Love’s fallen flower shall its rich fragrance shed ? 

That from death’s hand, to the eternal sea, 

Shall drop the stolen pearl of memory ? 

That swift receding from the eternal shore, 

The tide of death shall leave the shell of love ? 

That winging blithely from death's open door, 

The bird of love its unchecked speed shall prove? 

And that death’s pirate ships, which darkly rove, 

To some bright frigate on the immortal sea, 

Shall yield the captured pearl of memory ? 


i6 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


X 

Then said Jesus unto them, Be not afraid; go tell my 
brethren that they go into Galilee, and there shall they 
see me. 

The soul, alive in Christ, shall never lift 
Before the assembled universe, to God, 

Her weeping eyes, of love’s pure light bereft, 

And cry that he who bought her vineyard, trod 
Love’s pleasant vines to earth, and stained the sod 
With love’s rich, purple grapes. Christ loved his own, 
And will not be content to love alone. 

Yea, clothed in sackcloth, she shall never wail 
That love’s lands, unredeemed, all flockless lie, 

And that in love’s unransomed city, fail 
The voice of mirth, the voice of gladness, aye, 

The millstone’s sound, the candle’s light. Put by 
Thy fears ! The risen Christ, who loved his own, 

Will never be content to love alone. 


( EMMAUS) 

XI 

And behold, tzvo of them went that day to a village called 
Emmaus which was from Jerusalem about three score fur¬ 
longs. And they talked together of all these things which had 
happened. 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


17 


And it came to pass that f while they communed together 
and reasonedy ‘Jesus himself drew near t and went with them. 
But their eyes were holden that they should not know him. 

The darkness veiled from Mary’s faithful sight 
The face she sought with love’s clear eyes; unblown 
The rose of morn ; unspread dawn’s wings of light; 

But brightness on the road to Emmaus shone; 

How was it that he walked with them unknown ? 

He who had oft been their companion ? Lo, 

Their eyes were holden that they should not know. 

They yet will know him in the upper room; 

They yet will know him by the silent shore; 

Fear not that when the wept-for faces come, 

And smile upon us, they will be no more 
The faces we have loved and lost; before 
'The moment for the glad disclosure, lo, 

Their eyes were holden that they should not know. 


XII 

And he said unto them y What manner of communications 
are these that ye have one to another , as ye walk t and are 
sad ? 

“ What manner of communication,” thus 
He spake, “ have ye one to another? ” (They 
Slow pilgrims who were bound for Emmaus, 


18 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


A traveller he, who shared the quiet way;) 

Gently he spake,—it was the close of day — 

And thenceforth made all life’s roads seem more glad, 

“ E’en as ye walk ”—thus said he—“ and are sad ? ” 

And ever since that evening, we who walk 
Communing of our vanished as we fare, 

Look for a time when those will join our talk 
Of whom we reason ; simply will they share 
The speech familiar, and the question dare 
By which he made all life’s roads seem more glad, 

E’en as we “ walk”—thus said he—“ and are sad.” 

XIII 

And the one of them whose name was Cleopas t answering y 
said unto him , Art thou only a stranger in Jerusalem , and 
hast not known the things which are come to pass therein these 
days ? 

No stranger came he to Jerusalem, 

He who had brushed its stones with sacred dress ; 

He who had cleansed, while no man dared condemn, 

Its temple courts of their unworthiness ; 

He who had paused in all its ways to bless ; 

He must have smiled when he was asked of them, 

Art thou a stranger in Jerusalem ? ” 

We too shall walk, and facing towards the east, 

Meet calm pedestrians with gentle tread; 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


19 


Those who have shared with us the marriage feast; 
Those who have wept with us beside the dead ; 
Will they not smile, should we, perplexed, afraid, 
Lest they remember not, ask one of them, 

“ Art thou a stranger in Jerusalem? ” 


XIV 

Art thou only a stranger in Jerusalem , and hast not known 
the things which are come to pass there in these days ? 

And he said unto them y What things ? 

Will they, the seraph-circled, care to hear 
The trivial story of our earth-bound lot ? 

The task, the grief, the chastened joy, the tear, 

The smile, that we have known since they were not? 
What time hath wrought within his native cot, 

Careth the palace-dweller? King of kings, 

Full tenderly he asked of them, “ What things? ” 

The question that we did not think to ask; 

The answer that we had not time to give ; 

Must each toss, an unopened, shipwrecked cask, 

Idly upon the spirit’s wave ? Believe 

Not thus of those who love us still, nor grieve 

God’s heart with thought unjust: the King of kings, 

Full tenderly he asked of them, “ What things? ” 


20 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


XV 

And beginning at Moses and all the prophets , he expounded 
unto them in all the scriptures the things concerning himself. 

With Moses and the prophets ! He had stood 
Within the synagogue ofttimes to read, 

And proved his title to his kinglihood 
From the inspired page; now lest they heed 
Not well the word fulfilled in very deed, 

He reasons with them from the scriptures. Whole, 
Complete, the mind hath triumphed as the soul. 

The soul, alive in Christ, shall never sit 

% 

In ashes, and while striving to avert 

From angel gazes, her sad eyes unlit 

With reason or with memory, assert 

To watchful worlds that God hath healed the hurt 

Of the daughter of his people slightly. Whole, 

Complete, the mind hath triumphed as the soul. 

XVI 

And beginning at Moses and all the prophets, he expounded 
unto them in all the scriptures the things concerning himself. 

The jar of its rich essences despoiled, 

No merchant from the far-off east would bring; 

No falconer who up the height had toiled, 

To lure the young hawk home, would break its wing; 
And will God save the soul of man, yet fling 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


21 


Aside its knowledge ? Keep the parchment roll 
Yet blot the hieroglyphics from the scroll ? 

No captain boasteth who hath steered to port 
The ship, its priceless cargo lost at sea; 

No conqueror vaunteth, who hath won the fort, 

Its garrison uncaptured ; will God be 
Content with an unfinished victory ? 

A triumph incomplete? The parchment roll 
Of Christ’s mind held the scriptures on its scroll. 

XVII 

Then he said unto them , O fools> and slow of heart to be¬ 
lieve all that the prophets have spoken : ought not Christ to 
have suffered these things, and to enter into his glory ? And 
beginning at Moses and all the prophets, he expounded unto 
them in all the scriptures the things concerning himself. 

Will the great metalist the bell re-cast 
That it may chime less deeply than of yore? 

Will he re-mould the statue that at last 
Its form may rise less nobly than before? 

Will the great architect the dome restore, 

That it may loom less loftily? Ah, nay, 

Christ reasoned from the scriptures by the way. 

Above the storms of death, the mountain peak 
Of thought shall rise; death’s lightning shall not scar 



22 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Its rock-ribbed surface, nor death’s thunders wreak 
Their jarring vengeance on its heights afar; 

Death’s clouds shall not obscure the mind’s bright star; 
Hear thou to this, God’s everlasting “ Yea ” : 

Christ reasoned from the scriptures by the way. 


XVIII 

But they constrained him, sayi?ig, Abide with us ; for it is 
towards evening, and the day is far spent. And he we?it in 
to tarry with them. And it came to pass, as he sat at meat 
with them, he took bread, and blessed it, and brake, and gave 
to them. 

“ Abide with us; the day is spent.” Not loth 
To be constrained of them, no word he said 
Of angels who might place for him the cloth, 

Of heavenly rooms in which might wait his bed ; 

But entered in, and when the food was spread 
That kindly hands provided for his sake, 

He took the bread they gave, and blessed, and break. 


When to earth’s lowly, long expectant roof, 

Come heavenly guests, no sense of something strange, 
Of something subtly alien or aloof, 

Will smite us; but as if there were no change, 

As if they had not known a loftier range 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


23 


Of thought than ours, our visitants will take 
The bread that we can give, and bless, and break. 

( THE UPPER ROOM) 

XIX 

And the third day I shall be perfected. Nevertheless I 
must walk to-day , and to-morrow, and the day following: for 
it cannot be that a prophet perish out of Jerusalem. 

And they rose up the same hour , and returned to Jerusalem 
and found the eleven gathered together. 

And as they thus spake Jesus himself stood in the midst of 
them. 

“On the third day I shall be perfected, 

But notwithstanding, I must walk to-day, 

And to-morrow: ” (thus his steadfast lips had said), 
“And the day that followeth; a prophet may 
Out of Jerusalem not perish." Yea, 

His staff is in his hand, he journeyeth 
To bring them life who will award him death. 

And on the third day he was perfected. 

Oh, surely his oblivious feet will stray, 

(Unmindful that men count them with the dead,) 

Where pure, angelic ointments wipe away 
The dust of earth ? Nay, he will walk to-day, 

And to-morrow, and the day that followeth 
To bring them life that did award him death. 


24 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


XX 

Our feet shall stand, within thy gates , O Jerusalem. 

And they rose up the same hour , and returned to Jerusa- 
lem y and found the eleven gathered together. 

And as they thus spake , Jesus himself stood in the midst of 
them. 

Oft had he mused those words, “ Our feet shall stand 
Within thy gates ! ” And when his footstep trod 
Mid crowds that thronged and pressed on every side, 
Towards Mount Moriah and the courts of God, 

Did he not murmur, (in his soul unshod, 

E’en while his sandals strove the crowd to stem), 

“ Within thy gates, thine, O Jerusalem ! ” ? 

But since then his far-faring feet have passed 
Through those still streets where silent crowds resort; 
The rock-hewn tomb is there the temple vast, 

And death is priest in its sequestered court; 

And will he thence return to make report ? 

His feet have stood, death’s sandals loosed from them, 
Within thy gates, thine, O Jerusalem ! 

XXI 

And while they thus spake, Jesus himself stood in the midst 
of them. 

Yea, as the vine casts off its unripe grape, 

And as the olive tree shakes off its flower. 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


25 


And as the rose sheds from its petaled shape 
The pearly drop left by the summer shower, 

So shall the soul in death’s forgetful hour, 

Throw off its love? What answer ? All was told 
When Christ, arisen, sought the friends of old. 

Yea, shall the soul leave in the shell of life 
The pearl of love ? Or like the Syrian, fly, 

Sped by the fear of an unequal strife, 

While love’s abandoned gold and silver lie 
In its forsaken tents ? O heart, deny 
The charge unjust! Make answer ! All was told 
When Christ, arisen, sought the friends of old. 


XXII 

But they were terrified and affrighted , and supposed that 
they had seen a spirit. And he said unto them y Why are ye 
troubled ? And why do thoughts arise in your hearts ? 

In each blanched cheek, and in each startled eye, 

He read the meaning ill-concealed ; full well 
He comprehended each affrighted cry, 

And that he might their needless fear dispel, 

He asked, “ Why are ye troubled ? ”—(silence fell 
Upon them, and a dawning glad surprise) — 

“ And why do thoughts within your hearts arise?” 


26 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


And at that question all our questions cease; 

What need we ask, when what he asked outran 
Our need ? The smooth stones of his words of peace, 
Down-dropping, choke our fear’s deep well; our span 
Of dread is measured by his love to man. 

“ Why are ye troubled ? ”—yea, in anywise ? — 

“ And why do thoughts within your hearts arise? ” 

XXIII 

Behold my hands and my feet , that it is I myself; handle 
me and see ; for a spirit hath not fesh and bones as ye see me 
have . 

♦ 

That it is I myself; Christ understood ! 

Had he not wept with them beside the grave 

Of Lazarus, and felt his brotherhood 

With those who mourn ? He knew their hearts did crave 

No spirit sundered from them by death’s wave; 

No shining angel sprung from death’s dark tomb; 

Ah, no ! Christ understood, and showed them—whom ? 

That it is I myself! Heart, mind, and form, 

All that doth make a man that which he is, 

In God’s cleft rock is sheltered from death’s storm; 

All that our love refuses to dismiss, 

What sweet assurance can be like to this ? 

No spirit, and no angel from the tomb; 

Ah, no ! Christ understood, and showed them—whom ? 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


2; 


XXIV 

Behold my hands and my feet , that it is I myself; handle 
me and see ; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones as ye see me 
have. 

We strive, (and think that thus we shall uplift 
Our aspirations unto God) to say : 

“It is enough that God bestows the gift 
Of life eternal on the soul; the clay 
Is but the hired dwelling of a day ; 

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, no moan ! ” 

But lo, the Christ rose clothed with flesh and bone. 

# 

Once more the censer of the spirit swung 
Within the temple of the flesh; the eye, 

The ear, receptive; voice, and lip, and tongue 
Expressive ; and to their affrighted cry, 

“ It is a spirit! ” he made clear reply 

Thus, “ Handle me and see ! ” No,t soul alone, 

Vague, strange, the Christ rose clothed with flesh and bone 

XXV 

Behold my hands. 

Behold my hands ! O yet he marvelleth 
That we should be so slow to learn aright 
That utterly he hath abolished death; 

That e’en the dust is precious in his sight, 

Who hath brought immortality to light; 




28 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


And as he stood of old, to-day he stands, 

And pleadeth now, as then, “ Behold my hands ! ” 

Who keeps the light, will also guard the lamp : 

Who shuns to break the lance, will spare the shield ; 
Death shall not hide in his defeated camp, 

One trophy snatched from that lost battle-field ; 

In this is Christ’s full victory revealed : 

Death’s shattered sword beneath his feet, he stands, 

And pleadeth now, as then, “ Behold my hands ! ” 

XXVI 

And when he had thus spoken y he showed them his hands 
and his feet. 

God might have given to the soul of man 
Undying life, yet let the clay remain 
Forgotten in the great, immortal plan; 

But lest some humble wish should be in vain, 

E’en the long-perished dust shall live again; 

No tenderer proof the human heart demands 
Than this : he showed to them his feet and hands. 

His face, that more than any man’s was marred, 

No longer wore the mortal trace of grief; 

And if, perchance, his patient heart was scarred 
With man’s ingratitude and unbelief, 

Their eyes do not behold it; but in brief 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


29 


And crimson proof, each cruel nail-print stands; 
Therefore he showed to them his feet and hands. 

XXVII 

And while they yet believed not for joy . 

We almost fear sometimes, to take the full, 

Deep comfort of the pledge that God will raise 
The body as the soul; not making null 
The promise, but diminishing the phrase, 

Or meeting God’s “Yea” with our half-said “Nays,” 

As precious overmuch to be received. 

Alas ! for joy they had not yet believed. 

But having spared the jewel, will God break 
The casket ? Will he leave the wine unspilled 
And dash the chalice down ? The rich oil take, 

But crush the precious cruse that it has filled ? 

Or in the lists with death, like one unskilled, 

Win back the blade, the hilt still unretrieved? 

Alas, for joy, we have not yet believed. 

XXVIII 

And while they yet believed not for joy, and wondered, ht 
said unto them, Have ye any meat ? 

The ointments poured, the fragrant spices brought, 

The grave-clothes wrapped around him, tear-bestained, 


30 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


These were love’s last, fond offices, they thought; 

If any alabaster box remained 
Unbroken, the rich drops it had contained 
Would never fall upon his sacred feet: 

But list! he asketh, “ Have ye any meat? ” 

His purpose calleth for their ministries; 

His great plan needeth their meek aid, which none 
Had hoped to render him again. O eyes 
That gaze on mounds where futile flowers are strown, 
And weep that love’s last service hath been done, 

Behold, he standeth—Oh, how strange, how sweet! — 
And saith to them, “ Have ye any meat? ” 

XXIX 

And they gave him a piece of broiled fishy and of a honey¬ 
comb, and he took it and did eat before them. 

He knew our yearning to regain our own 
Unchanged by death, undimmed with mystery; 

“ A spirit,” said he, “hath not flesh and bone 
As ye see me have; handle me and see.” 

And that the last doubt might removed be, 

He took, and ate, within that upper room, 

A piece of fish, and of a honey-comb. 

And when we ask, “ How are the dead raised up, 

And with what body do they come? ” we know 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


31 


No shadowy form will disappoint our hope, 
And no illusive phantom mock our woe; 

But that the dust the spirit’s overthrow 
Of death will share ; since in that upper room, 
He ate the fish, and of the honey-comb. 


XXX 

These are the words I spake unto you, while I was yet 
with you. 

How tenderly they had told o’er and o’er, 

The words his sacred lips had once let fall, 

How sadly they had striven yet once more 
The phrases half-forgotten to recall ! 

Will he remember? Will death’s nulling pall, 

Cast from the form, drop from the memory, too ? 

“ The words I spake while I was yet with you.” 

The letters carved on some fair, idle day 
Upon the sapling, mark the tree full-grown ; 

The fern, imbedded in the yielding clay, 

Leaveth its print upon the enduring stone; 

What time’s slow touch upon the heart hath done, 

Shall death, with swift, destructive blow, undo? 

“The words I spake while I was yet with you.” 


32 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


XXXI 

These are the words which I spake unto you, while I was 
yet with you, that all things must be fulfilled, which are 
written in the law of Moses, and in the prophets, and in the 
psalms, concerning me. 

The risen Christ through their words did reveal 
Himself, and will they no more voice their trust ? 

Will they not, silent, hear the joyous peal, 

“ Awake and sing, ye dwellers of the dust! ” 

God hath not suffered e’en the grave to rust 
The true-toned harp, nor death to loose its string? 

And from the dust shall they not wake and sing ? 

And he whose song adventurous justified 
God’s ways to man; he whose memorial woe 
Was faith’s clear chant; each whose true lyrics bide 
With us like pure, unsullied streams that flow 
Adown the road where dust-stained travellers go; 

The risen Christ their harps new-tuned will bring, 

And from the dust they shall awake and sing. 

XXXII 

These are the words which I spake unto you, while I was 
yet with you, that all things must be fulfilled, which are writ¬ 
ten in the law of Moses, and in the prophets, and in the 
psalms, concerning me. 

Thou who didst wield of old a shepherd’s crook, 

And in green pastures peaceful flocks did keep, 


THE FIRST FRUITS 33 

And so couldst chant by Siloa’s peaceful brook 
What time thy harp was struck with tuneful sweep, 

How the good shepherd shepherded his sheep; — 

Across the grave thy deathless songs have rung, 

And echoed back from an immortal tongue. 

Thou, Moses, thou, Ezekiel, and ye, 

Great Daniel, Hosea, and rapt Isaiah, 

Not lost in silence your great minstrelsy, 

Not fallen to ashes your prophetic fire; 

Your earthly harps sound through the heavenly choir; 
Across the grave your deathless songs have rung, 

And echoed back from an immortal tongue. 

XXXIII 

And he said unto them , Thus it is written , and thus it be¬ 
hoved Christ to suffer, and to rise from the dead the third day. 

When Jordan’s waters swerved before the ark, 

And Israel passed safely through the flood, 

God bade them carry over, stones to mark 
The spot where firm the priestly feet had stood; 

And will he overthrow, in changeful mood, 

The mind’s memorial stones ? The risen Lord, 

And risen man, recalled the written word. 

When Moses, angry for Jehovah’s sake, 

Cast down the tables, did not God replace 


34 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


The stones the great law-giver’s hand did break, 
And with his hand the characters retrace ? 

And will he, reckless, hurl back into space 
The tables of the mind ? The risen Lord, 

And risen man, recalled the written word. 


XXXIV 

If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget 
her cunning.—Psalm ijy : j. 

And that repentance and remission of sins should be preached 
in his name among all nations, beginning at Jerusalem. 

When from the sloping crown of Olivet 
He looked towards Zion, did he not repeat 
The ringing cry, “ May my right hand forget 
Her cunning,” (musing how in lone retreat, 

Voicing the words, an exile’s heart had beat 
In mighty, mournful unison with them), 

“ If I forget thee, O Jerusalem ! ” 

Now he hath been a captive in strange lands; 

He hath sat down by far-off streams; hath he 
Sung Zion’s songs upon death’s alien strands ? 

Or hath he hung upon death’s willow tree, 

The unstrung harps of love and memory? 

The risen Christ,—let this all fear condemn — 

Did not forget thee, O Jerusalem ! 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


35 


( THE UPPER ROOM—SECOND APPEARANCE ) 

XXXV 

And after eight days y again his disciples were within, and 
Thomas zvith them ; then came "Jesus, the doors being shut, 
and stood in the midst, and said, Peace be unto you. 

The soul, redeemed, shall never make lament, 

“Death, the ungrateful traveller, chanced to cross 
The door of my too hospitable tent, 

And carry thence love’s golden cup ! O loss 
Past help! No camel shall so fleetly toss 
The sand as to outrun his steed ! ” Not thus, 

O God of comfort, thou dost comfort us ! 

As Joseph’s eager servants, sent in haste, 

O’ertook the twelve, and breathless, searched the sack 
Of Benjamin for that rich cup misplaced, 

So will God's messengers speed on death’s track, 

And snatch love’s chalice in stern triumph, back ; 

The risen Christ still loved his own : yea, thus, 

O God of comfort, thou dost comfort us. 

XXXVI 

And after eight days again his disciples were within , and 
Thomas with them; then came Jesus, the doors being shut, 
and stood in the midst, and said, Peace be unto you. 

Ofttimes when tearfully our eyes have gazed 
Upon the page that readeth, “ It is sown ” — 


36 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


The mortal—“ in dishonor, it is raised 
In glory,” we have cried with secret moan, 

“ Lord, untransfigured give us back our own ! ” 
The doors were shut: O slow of heart, let this 
Set forth the glory that we take amiss. 

The face the bright, true mirror of the mind, 
The form the instant servant of a will 
Free with a freedom that no man can bind, 

But fixed and bent God’s purpose to fulfill; 

No bar shall hinder; death shall know no skill 
By which to blight; O slow of heart, is this 
The glory that we take so much amiss ? 


XXXVII 

And after eight days again his disciples were within , and 
Thomas with them ; then came Jesus , the doors being shut y 
and stood in the midst , and said , Peace be u?ito you. 

Within the quiet of the upper room, 

Where stillness breathes like wafted incense through, 
Life’s noisy shuttle silent in the loom, 

Time’s footfall gentle with soft, muffled shoe, 

He standeth saying, “ Peace be unto you.” 

Lord, in thy house not made with hands, the home 
Prepared for us, hast thou no upper room ? 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


37 


Some cool, still chamber, curtained and apart, 
Which thy meek angels will pass silently; 

Which e’en thy seraphim will fear to start 
With careless harp-strings, unsubdued ; where we 
May sit with those we love, and wait for thee ? 
Lord, in thy house not made with hands, the home 
Prepared for us, hast thou no upper room ? 


(BY THE SEA OF TIBERIAS ) 

XXXVIII 

After these things Jesus shewed himself again to the dis¬ 
ciples at the sea of Tiberias. 

Oft when awearied with the street and mart 
Hath he not turned to thee for peace and rest, 

Tiberias, and calmed his troubled heart 
With gazing on thy quiet face? When pressed 
Hard by the multitude, upon thy breast 
Found he not refuge ? Moan, O Galilee ; 

How, from death’s waters, should he come to thee? 

Rejoice, Tiberias ! When wild winds rent 
Thy raging surface, and with mighty roar, 

« 

Upon thy boisterous depths their fury spent, 

E’en then the elements their strife forbore 
At his command, and all was peace once more. 


33 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Once he hath calmed thy waves, O Galilee, 

Now he hath stilled death’s waves to come to thee. 

XXXIX 

After these things Jesus shewed himself again to the 
ciples by the sea of Tiberias. 

O memory, O thought, if you have run 
With life’s slow footmen, wearied, how shall you 
Contend with death’s swift horses? Not undone 
Within life’s peaceful lands, yet passing through 
Death’s swelling Jordan, say, what will you do? 

Lo, memory and thought reply to me: 

“We came and stood with Christ beside the sea.” 

• “The dove sent out o’er death’s subsiding flood, 
Shall memory’s green leaf bring back with him: 
Upon death’s current cast, God’s branch of wood 
Shall cause the fallen axe of thought to swim; 

Beside the sea Christ sought his own; ”—(Yea, trim 
Our lamps of faith, O thought and memory !)— 

“ We came and stood with Christ beside the sea.” 

XL 

But when the morning came , Jesus stood on the shore. 

Not in the market-place, not in the gate 
Where princely caravans went sweeping by, 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


39 


Their laden camels passing forth in state; 

Not where or pomp, or pageant, met the eye; 

But where the sheltering hills all silently 
Sloped to the hidden sea, in quiet places, 

The Christ, arisen, sought beloved faces. 

They need to share with none the sacred speech; 
They need to share with none the tender look; 

In that prepared place, waiting out of reach, 

Is there no hill-shut lake, no leaf-hid brook, 
Where hearts akin like pages from one book, 
Shall find sweet solitude? In quiet places 
The Christ, arisen, sought beloved faces. 


XLI 

And he said unto them , Cast the net on the right side of 
the ship and ye shall find. They cast therefore , and now they 
were not able to draw it for the multitude of fishes. 

Of old his skill had crowned their night of toil; 

Of old, at his command, the net, recast, 

Had from the sea come laden with its spoil; 

Will he do what he hath done in the past ? 

Will he, a craftsman who hath still held fast 
His tools through sleep, take up at morning light 
The tasks he loved, and laid down over-night ? 


40 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Bear witness, burdened net! when we awake 
God will not give us, that we may fulfill 
His purpose, new, strange implements that make 
Our hands unsteady. For the painter still, 

The brush ! The chisel for the sculptor ! Skill 

» 

Increased, we shall take up at morning light 
The tasks we loved, and laid down over-night. 

XLII 

And he said unto them y Cast the net on the right side of 
the ship, and ye shall find. . . . And the other disciples 

came in a little ship . . . dragging the net with fishes. 

. . . Simon Peter went up, and drew the net to land full 

of great fishes, a hundred and fifty and three: and for all 
there were so many, yet was the net not broken. 

“ Cast down the net upon the ship's right side ! ” 

They knew, but durst not say, that it was he; 

And quietly their trembling hands complied, 

And silently they drew forth from the sea, 

At his command, one hundred,—fifty,—three; 

O Christ, who thus directed from the shore, 

Was thy work done, or was thy service o’er? 

Lo, standing by the calm, eternal lake, 

Shall he not cry, “ Cast down and ye shall find ” ? 

Shall we not stay full nets that will not break ? 

Shall we not watch, borne shoreward with the wind, 

The ships that drag the draughts that we divined ? 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


41 


O Christ, who thus directed from the shore, 

Was thy work done, or was thy service o’er? 

« 

XLIII 

Jesus then comethy and taketh bready and giveth them, and 
fish likewise. 

“ A fire of coals, and fish thereon, and bread ; ” 

** He taketh bread, and giveth them, and fish; ” 
Ofttimes their hunger had by him been fed, 

His hand had filled their cup, and heaped their dish; 
And now, arisen, he hath felt the wish 
To meet, as he had met, some humble need 
Of theirs. Our lips are trembling as we read. 

With eyes in which love’s need for serving shone, 

He watched the ship upon the silent sea; 

He knew the yearning that love still hath known, 

And cried, as love hath still cried, bound or free, 

“ Let not thy whitest angel, but let me ! ” 

God gave the boon ; shall he less grace concede 
To us ? Our lips are trembling as we read. 

XLIV 

Jesus then comethy and taketh bread and giveth them y and 
fish likewise. 

Thy heart was lowly, blessed Son of Man ; 

Thou hast not left the lowly want unblessed; 


42 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


The lowly hope hath not received thy ban; 

And thou hast not withholden the request 
Of lowly lips; to each, thy bidden guest, . 

Thou didst not give strange manna, but supplies 
Of wont and use; yea, bread, and fish likewise. 

Upon the board, at thy fore-ordered feast, 

Thou wilt not set forth paradisal wine, 

Or fruit supernal only. Great high-priest 
Of God’s good things to come, yet will thou twine 
With thy pomegranate, our pale jessamine; 

Earth’s lowly joys may be the glad surprise 
Of heaven ; bread thou gavest, fish likewise. 


XLV 

So when they had dined , Jesus saith to Simon Peter , Simon , 
son of Jonas, lovest thou me more than these ? 

He calleth him by name ! Christ’s mind doth keep 
The ship beside the sea, the fisher net, 

That Simon once forsook for him ; the deep, 

Whereon he strove his sinking feet to set; 

“ Save or I perish ! ” Christ doth hear it yet. 

By name ! Lest we should miss the joy that lies 
Within those words, Lord, open thou our eyes. 





THE FIRST FRUITS 


43 


“ Not my feet only, but my hands, my head ! ” 
Still Simon’s cry within Christ’s mind is kept; 
His pallid face, when in the garden dread, 
Sleeping for sorrow, heavily he slept; 

His tears, when from his broken heart he wept. 
By name ! Lest we should miss the joy that lies 
Within those words, Lord, open thou our eyes. 


XLVI 

Jesus saith to Simon Peter, Simon , son of Jonas , lovest thou 
me more than these ? 

How oft must Peter in those dark three days 
Have moaned, “ Had I but fallen at his feet, 

And bathed them with my tears, and tried to raise 
My eyes to his, e’en as he went to meet 
The thorn-crown and the scourge, might not his sweet 
Compassion have bent o’er me?” Peace to thee : 

Thy moment waiteth by the dawn-lit sea. 

A death to die, a grave wherein to sleep, 

Shall these things hinder his all-gracious quest ? 

Once thou didst walk the wave to him; to keep 
A tryst with thee, he treadeth now the crest 
Of death’s dark billow. Since his feet have pressed 
That path in safety, for us as for thee, 

A moment waiteth by the dawn-lit sea. 


44 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


XLVII 

Jesus saith unto him the third time f Simon, son of Jonas t 
lovest thou me P 

Three times had Peter bitterly denied 

He knew the man, and three times, mark we, three, 

The Lord they slew, arisen, glorified, 

Asked him this question: “ Simon, lovest thou me? ” 

No chance this trebled gentleness could be: 

Thrice did he probe that he might thrice make whole, 
And thrice denied, he thrice restored that soul. 

And by that three-fold love that did not spurn 
What three-fold penitence did thrice profess, 

We know Christ left not in death’s burial urn, 

Or memory, or love, or tenderness; 

Shall those to whom his faith is pledged bring less ? 
Thrice did he probe, that he might thrice make whole; 
And thrice denied, he thrice restored that soul.* 


XLVIII 

Jesus saith unto him the third time , Simon , son of Jonas, 

lovest thou me ? 

Believe not that the wisdom dearly bought 
From life, and life’s experience, will fall 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


45 


Like drapery from the soul; that all things taught 
By time will stand at the eternal wall, 

Kept back, denied, by death’s stern seneschal: 
The Saviour, mortal, felt the cruel smart, 

Through which, immortal, he did heal a heart. 

The oak uplifting its vast boughs on high, 

First budded in the close and darksome earth; 
The geyser flashing brightly towards the sky, 

In subterranean caverns had its birth; 

And heavenly wisdom may on life’s low hearth 
First flicker : mortal, Christ endured the smart, 
Through which, immortal, he did heal a heart. 


( BETHANY) 

XLIX 

And he led them out as far as Bethany , and he lifted up his 
handsy and blessed them. And it came to pass t while he 
blessed theniy he was parted from themy and carried up into 
heaven. 

Was it by chance that when the moment fell 
For his departing, o’er each waiting head, 

He lifted up in blessing and farewell, 

Those hands of flesh and bone ? O hands outspread, 
That all men, gazing, might be comforted, 


46 THE FIRST FRUITS 

Your red wounds are the seal that God hath set 
On that humanity Christ keepeth yet S 

Was it by chance that when the moment came 
For his ascending, unto angel eyes 
He lifted up, accounting it not shame, 

Those hands of flesh and bone ? O hands that rise 
Marked with the crimson stains of sacrifice, 

Your red wounds are the seal that God hath set 
On that humanity Christ keepeth yet! 


L 

And he led them out as far as Bethany , and he lifted up his 
hands t and blessed them. And it came to pass, while he blessea 
them , he was parted from them, and carried up into heaven. 

The hands that bent the fig tree’s branches down, 

And found but leaves, shall gather from the tree 
Of life, its fruits of heavenly renown ; 

The hands that were reached out on Galilee 
For Peter’s grasp, on the eternal sea 
Will be stretched out to save: the record stands 
That as he rose, he lifted up his hands. 

The hands that broke the barley loaves, will break 
The heavenly bread ; the hands that poured the wine, 
Will fill the cup with draughts of richer make, 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


47 


Pressed from the clusters of the grapes divine; 
The hands that bore the cross, incarnadine 
Will wave the palm; for this sure record stands, 
That as he rose, he lifted up his hands. 


LI 

And he led them out as far as Bethany , and he lifted up 
his handsy and blessed them. And it came to pass , while he 
blessed them, he was parted from them y and carried up into 
heaven. 

The risen Christ ascendeth into heaven, 

At God's right hand he taketh now his seat; 

And unto mortal eyes it is not given 
To view the scene where cherubim repeat 
Their “ Holy, holy, holy,” at his feet 
Casting their crowns; but unto God’s high throne, 

The Christ ascended clothed with flesh and bone. 

“Yet in my flesh will I see God; ” “ Thou wilt 
Not suffer ”—thou—“thy holy one to see 
Corruption.” This inspired hope was built 
Upon no man’s foundation. Now agree 
Ye men and angels all, that God’s decree 
Is mightier than death’s ! To God’s high throne, 

The Christ ascended clothed with flesh and bone. 


48 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


LII 

When ye be come to the land which I give unto you and 
shall reap the harvests thereof \ then ye shall bring a sheaf of 
the first-fruits of your harvests unto the Priests. 

But now is Christ risen from the dead and become the first- 
fruits of them that slept. 

The sheaf once sent in gladness to the priest, 

Was, blade for blade, and grain for golden grain, 

No richness added, no bright hue increased, 

Like those sheaves that would follow from the plain; 

Sure harbinger the first-fruits did remain, 

First of the gathered store, the garnered yield, 

Sent with rejoicing from the harvest field. 

“ Now is Christ risen from the dead," (the sum 
Of God’s love, which no might may intercept, 

Is told, complete, in this) and is become 

The first-fruits—listen, ye whose eyes have wept, 

Uncomforted till now !—“ of them that slept ” ; 

First of the gathered store, the garnered yield, 

Sent with rejoicing from the harvest field. 


II 

Miscellaneous 








A FAILURE 


He cast his net at morn where fishers toiled, 

At eve he drew it empty to the shore; 

He took the diver’s plunge into the sea, 

But thence within his hand no pearl he bore. 

He ran a race, but never reached his goal; 

He sped an arrow, but he missed his aim; 
And slept at last beneath a simple stone, 

With no achievements carved about his name. 

Men called it failure; but for my own part 
I dare not use that word, for what if Heaven 
Shall question, ere its judgment shall be read, 
Not, ‘‘ Hast thou won ? ’ ’ but only, * ‘ Hast thou 
striven ? ’ ' 









THE FIRST FRUITS 


A PARADISE BLOSSOM 

There was beauty and silence in Eden; 
Without, there was silence and woe; 

And between, the dread sword that was holden 
By the cherubim, waved to and fro. 

Then close to the sentinelled gateway, 

Where flashed the fierce sword in its flame, 

Sad Eve, who was first in the sinning, 

And first in the suffering, came. 

And she fell at the feet of the angel, 

And bowed her bright head to the dust; 

* I am woman,” she said, “ who was tempted, 
And fell, and my sentence is just. 

‘ But pity, dread angel! my spirit 
Is sick for its bowers of bloom, 

And I pine in the wilderness places 
For breathings of Eden’s perfume ; 

‘ Now grant me one blossom, I pray thee, 

But one of the many within, 

To cheer with its beauty and fragrance, 

The earth with its sorrow and sin.” 


A PARADISE BLOSSOM 


53 


Her prayer died away in the silence, 

For “Nay,” spake the Angel of Wrath ; 
But Mercy beheld the swift tear-drops 
That fell on her desolate path; 

And she stole to the loveliest flower 

That bloomed in the bowers of bliss;— 
There were many more gorgeous in Eden, 
But never one sweeter than this ;— 

And she fanned with her wings its green 
branches, 

Still fair, and undimmed by man’s fall; 
Till its seed, wafted out on the breezes, 
Fell over the Paradise wall. 

And from it there sprang a rich blossom; 

And on earth that was dreary before, 

It breathed out the fragrance of Eden ; 
And love was the name that it bore. 


/ 





54 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


HE WALKED WITH GOD 

« And Enoch walked with God, and was not, for God took him.” 

I sometimes turn me from the page of glory, 

The tales of heroes, and the paths they trod, 

And think upon him of whose lifelong story 
Is simply told us that he walked with God. 

No record of the task of his fulfilling, 

Whether he watched with shepherds on the plain, 

Or labored patiently, the rich soil tilling; 

He walked with God, and could not toil in vain. 

No record of his wealth, if little earning, 

Or if the flocks on all the hills were his; 

He walked with God, and to him daily turning 
For daily need, was heir to all that is. 

No record of his fame, if to him bending 

Men crowned with homage all his length of days; 
Or, humble and unknown to his life’s ending, 

He walked with God, and could forego man’s praise. 

We do not know what were the dreams he cherished, 
What fond affections round his heart did cling, 

How oft his hopes along the wayside perished ; 

He walked with God, and lacked for no good thing. 


HE WALKED WITH GOD 


55 


We do not know how oft his footsteps stumbled, 

How oft he faltered on his journey’s length, 

How oft he fell, and lay abased and humbled ; 

He walked with God, and he renewed his strength. 

We do not know what danger loomed before him, 
How oft he quailed at some unlooked-for foe; 

He walked with God, and while that arm upbore him 
Where’er it led he might not fear to go. 

We know not if he always felt that guiding, 

Or if no shadow ever dimmed his sight; 

He walked with God, and in his care abiding, 

Was safe with him in darkness or in light. 

He walked with God, and no man knows the closing 
Of that calm walk, or how the ending came. 

Did his soul pass upon God’s breast reposing, 

And knowing naught of death, except the name ? 

Or, one day, with the veil of flesh unbroken, 

Did God but draw him closer to his side, 

The shining of his face the only token, 

And so pass with him over Jordan’s tide? 

We know not; or if, with or without warning, 

Upon his earthly walks the silence fell; 

Or if it was at evening, or at morning; 

We know he walked with God, and it was well. 




5 6 THE FIRST FRUITS 

And what if joy or sorrow shall betide thee, 

If smooth or rugged paths thy feet have trod, 
What matter by what way his hand shall guide thee 
So it be said of thee, “ He walked with God " ? 


CALEB'S DAUGHTER 


57 


CALEB’S DAUGHTER 

“ And Caleb said, he that smiteth Kirjath-sepher, and taketh it, 
to him will I give Achsah, my daughter, to wife. And Othniel, 
the son of Kenaz, Caleb’s younger brother, took it .”—Judges 
i :12-13. 

I heard the voice of Caleb, ray father, on the day 
When the warlike men of Judah stood in their bold array : 
When they looked out towards the conflict like the war- 
horse in his might, 

And the flashing of their spear-heads was a fierce and 
wondrous sight. 

“ Go ye up to Kirjath-sepher,” so came my father’s words, 
“And drive out the men of Canaan with their flocks and 
with their herds ; 

And the mighty man of valor who shall thrust them from 
the land, 

Unto him there shall be given yonder dark-eyed maiden's 
hand.” 

Then I reeled with sudden faintness, and the color fled 
my cheek, 

And I strove to cry, “ My father ! ” but my lips refused 
to speak; 

And I dared not lift my eyelids unto one who loved me 
well, 

For I knew the same fear whitened the brow of Othniel. 



58 THE FIRST FRUITS 

Yea, oft beneath the starlight, where our people’s tents 
were spread, 

We had trod the plains together with a light and careless 
tread; 

We had stood in awe together where the Jordan backward 
rolled ; 

But still the same, unchanging, was the tale of love he 
told. 

We had dreamed of prosperous seasons when the Canaan- 
ite should cease, 

When Israel should triumph, and our people dwell .at 
peace; 

When the hills should smile with olives, and the slopes 
be clad with vines, 

And the land should flow with honey, and with milk, and 
corn, and wines. 

And to Othniel should be given the green pastures of the 
south, 

With the wells of living water for the thirsty camel’s 
mouth ; 

But I’d keep my father’s sheep, till the corn was in the 
shocks, 

And I should go forth at evening to draw water for the 
flocks. 


CALEB'S DAUGHTER 


59 

And one eve as I stood watching, there against the set¬ 
ting sun, 

I should surely see him coming; all the waiting would 
be done. 

Then the south would stretch before us, while the soft 
skies bent above, 

And like Jacob’s love for Rachel, so for me would be his 
love. 


But the time is done for dreaming ! Host of Judah, can 
it be 

Of the mighty men of valor there are mightier than he? 

Like the young tree in the spring-time so his youthful 
beauty is; 

There might well be fiercer swords, and a stronger arm, 
than his. 

But I thought of Judah’s glory, and I summoned all my 
will; 

When our women fail in courage, shall our men be fear¬ 
less still ? 

And I lifted steadfast glances, and my lips pressed back 
the moan, 

“ Go,” I said, “and God be with you ! ” Then I sought 
the tents alone. 


6o 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


“Hope of Israel, God of battles,” cried I prostrate from 
the ground 

“Let no other arm be stronger, let no sword be bolder 
found! ” 

Then I turned unto the doorway; where the distant 
mountain rose, 

I could hear the people shouting, as they closed in with 
their foes. 


“ Go,” I said to one who waited, “ bring me tidings from 
the fight! ” 

Then once more my voice I lifted, and prayed, “ Be 
Thou his might ! 

Give him strength for all his weakness, when he falters 
be Thou near. 

Strike Thou when his arm is failing, let them fall beneath 
his spear.” 


Then the messenger came flying, “ As with fields of wav¬ 
ing grain, 

As the grasses sway together when the wind sweeps o’er 
the plain, 

So their forces meet and mingle, so foe interlocks with foe ; 

Which are flying, which pursuing, how the day goes, 
none may know.” 


CALEB'S DAUGHTER 


6l 


“ Go once more towards yonder mountain, bring me later 
tidings yet! ” 

And he came with swift returning, “ As the floods meet 
they have met; 

But the Canaanites are fleeing, and the men of Judah 
shout.” 

“ Go once more,” I said, “and tell me by whose hands 
they are thrust out.” 

Then I waited ; down the heavens slowly passed the set¬ 
ting sun, 

Slow as when it stayed and moved not, on the day at 
Ajalon; 

Slow as it ne’er seemed to any, save unto the watchful eye, 

And my spirit died within me, ere it sank behind the sky. 

Then the messenger came swiftly, hastening from the 
battle-field, 

“ Who,” I cried, “drove back the heathen, to what cap¬ 
tain did they yield ? ” 

“ Lo, he comes,” he said, and straightway from the field 
the victor came, 

And the people came before him, and they shouted Oth- 
niel’s name. 


62 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


RIZPAH 

“ And Rizpah the daughter of Aiah took sackcloth and spread it 
for her upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest until water 
dropped upon them out of heaven, and suffered neither the birds 
of the air to rest on them by day, nor the beasts of the field by 
night.” —2 Sam. 21: jo. 

From when the first ripe barley fell 
Until the time of rain, 

Upon the lone Judean hill 
She watched beside the slain. 

Sometimes the sound of reaping comes 
Borne from the fields' below, 

And hum of voices, when at eve 
The jocund gleaners go; 

Sometimes the wild hawk to his mate 
Calls shrilly overhead; 

She does not heed or sight or sound 
Who watches by the dead ; 

A watch uncheered by human lips: 

She hath made plaint to none; 

For very patient grows the heart 
When earthly hope is done. 


RIZPAH 


63 


A watch unshared by human eye ; 

When the last daylight dies, 

God and his stars look down, to these 
Alone she lifts her eyes. 

Rizpah, to watch is woman’s dower; 

In cottage and in hall 
She watches by the bed of pain, 

Beside the bier and pall; 

She hath kept watch through lonely hours 
While all around her slept; 

But never woman yet, save thee, 

Such watch as thine hath kept. 

And, where’er woman’s praise is sung, 
Where’er is breathed her fame, 

Or records of her love are graved, 

Be thine the holiest name. 


6 4 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


A WOMAN’S COMPLAINT 

I know that deep within your heart of hearts 
You hold me shrined apart from common things, 

And that my step, my voice can bring to you 
A gladness that no other presence brings. 

% 

And yet, dear love, through all the weary days 
You never speak one word of tenderness, 

Nor stroke my hair, nor softly clasp my hand 
Within your own in loving, mute caress. 

You think, perhaps, I should be all content 
To know so well the sacred place I hold 

Within your life, and so you do not dream 
How much I long to hear the story told. 

You cannot know, when we two sit alone 

And tranquil thoughts within your mind are 
stirred, 

My heart is crying like a tired child 

For one fond look, one gentle, loving word. 

It may be when your eyes look into mine 
You inly say, “ How dear she is to me ! " 

Oh, could I read it in your softened glance, 

How radiant this plain old world would be ! 


A WOMAN'S COMPLAINT 


65 


Perhaps, sometimes, you breathe a secret prayer 
That choicest blessings unto me be given, 

But if you said aloud, “God bless thee, dear ! ” 

I should not ask a greater boon from Heaven. 

I weary sometimes of the rugged way, 

But should you say, “Through thee my life is 
sweet,” 

The dreariest desert that our path could cross 
Would suddenly grow green beneath my feet. 

’Tis not the boundless waters ocean holds 
That give refreshment to the thirsty flowers, 

But just the drops that, rising to the skies, 

From thence descend in softly falling showers. 

And so 'tis sad that those who should be rich 
In that true love which crowns our earthly lot, 

Go praying with white lips from day to day, 

For love’s sweet tokens, and receive them not. 


66 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


TO A VERY OLD MIRROR IN A DRAWING¬ 
ROOM 

How old thou art, old mirror; I remember 
That when I was a little, wondering child, 

I loved to climb into a seat before thee, 

And watch the flitting shadows that came o’er thee, 
And o’er the dimpled face that on me smiled. 

And years have passed, old mirror; I have scanned 
With eyes as curious mysteries more deep; 

Seen other fancied substance prove but shade, 
Watched images more fair, as lightly fade, 

And thou dost still thy watchful vigil keep. 

Strange are the scenes, old mirror, that have been 
Reflected in thee ! If before my gaze, 

Across thy face might sweep now, one by one, 

The silent pictures thou hast looked upon, 

How would I stand in wonder and amaze ! 

What wondrous dreams, old mirror, thou wouldst hold 
Before my view; what lovely forms and faces, 

• j 

What noble men, and women passing fair, 

What starry eyes, and softly shining hair, 

What matron charms, and winsome, girlish graces. 


TO A VERY OLD MIRROR 


67 


Within thy depths, old mirror, I might spy 
The merry children happy at their play; 

Might watch the progress of some old-time game, 
With leaps and bounds and tumbles, just the same 
As make the modern wee folks’ holiday. 


And then methinks, old mirror, thou wouldst give 
In brilliant colors some fair bridal scene, 

Two faces that with steadfast trust are lighted, 

While vows, low-breathed, seal faith two hearts have 
plighted, 

Two hands enclasped till death shall come between. 


And what, old mirror, is this woe-charged picture ? 
A darkened room, a solemn pall, and shroud, 

A clay-cold form that lieth strangely meek, 

With quiet peaceful brow and pallid cheek, 

And stricken mourners o’er a coffin bowed. 


And where are now, old mirror, those who cast 
Their semblances o’er thee in days of yore? 
Child, maiden, and the lover at her side, 
Mother, and mourner, and the fair young bride, 
Like .their reflections passed, and are no more. 


68 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


And we remaining, if we will, may read 
The image of our fleeting lives in thee; 

That howsoe’er wise, virtuous, or sublime, 
Cast brief reflections in the glass of time, 
Then, like thy passing shadows, cease to be. 


THE DESERTED FOUNTAIN 


69 


THE DESERTED FOUNTAIN 

I stand beside the fountain, 

Where the life and the stir have been, 
But strange deep peace and quietness 
Have fallen o’er the scene. 

Fair faces hovered o’er its brink 
Beneath the summer skies; 

And its placid depths gave back again 
The light of laughing eyes. 

No sound of mirth, or laughter now 
Breaks o’er its gentle flow; 

And no form save the dropping leaf's 
Is mirrored from below. 

The youthful and the light of heart, 

The joyous and the gay, 

Have sipped the sparkling waters here, 
And gone their careless way. 

They have drained ere now the brimming 
draughts 

Of pleasure to the lees, 

And found, perchance, the drop of gall 
They never found in these. 


70 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


The sage and the philosopher, 

The wise man and the grave, 

Have stooped to cool the brows of thought 
Beside this limpid wave. 


They have turned again at learning’s fount 
To drink more deeply still; 

But the streams of knowledge mock the 
soul — 

Unlike to this sweet rill. 

And some who o’er its surface bent 
The care-worn brows of pain, 

Are gone where living waters flow, 

And they shall not thirst again. 

Thus all are fled, by mount or vale, 

By distant sea or shore; 

And where the lonely fountain springs 
Their footsteps come no more. 

Yet if of old it quenched the thirst 
Of one who wandered by, 

If it has cooled the fevered lip, 

Or cheered the weary eye, 


THE DESERTED FOUNTAIN 7 1 

Or given one tired traveller strength 
To pass on with his load, 

Then not in vain within the glade 
Its crystal stream has flowed. 



72 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


THE DREAM ANGEL 

When sleep has softly wrapt the earth, 

I come a noiseless guest, 

And on each sleeper’s silent brow 
My hand is gently pressed ; 

And unto each of the weary ones 
I give a dream of rest. 

I bid the wanderer hasten home, 

And the captive rove through space; 

And I lead the faithful lover’s steps 
To the old-time trysting place; 

And unto the mourner’s eyes I show 
A dear, remembered face. 

And the fevered brow bends once more 
Where the brook is trickling clear; 

And the maiden hears again the tale 
That is sweetest to her ear; 

And I bring a smile to every face 
Whereon I found a tear. 


THE FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER 


73 


THE FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER 

Sweet Nora was walking one fair summer morning 
By the meadow where I was upraking the hay, 
When a gay four-leaved clover she chanced to discover 
Growing modestly down by the side of the way. 

Now away with the sage that would scorn the bright 
omen ! 

She held it in triumph, “ See, Donavan, see, 

And guess if you can, sir; pray give me an answer — 
What wonderful gift it is bringing to me. 

Shall I have a new gown or a purse full of silver ? 

A letter ? A journey ? A ribbon to wear ? 

The hand of a stranger, a handsome young ranger? ” 
Here her lashes were drooped with a coquettish air. 

I took the green blade from the hand that up-raised 
it. 

“’Tis true,” I observed, “that the omen is bright, 
But vain is the presage, unless its true message 
We read, and interpret, and ponder, aright. 

The four-bladed clover, they say, is a shy thing, 

And never by him who would seek it is found; 

But in humble foretelling, it blooms by the dwelling 
Whose roof-tree is lowly and near to the ground. 



; 4 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


“And often the man who has longed to possess it 
Has sought it in vain over mountain and moor; 
And then—his heart failing with search unavailing — 
Has found it by chance at his own cottage-door. 

“And that’s why we find in the four-bladed clover 
An emblem of happiness, Nora, my sweet, 

Which flies from our wooing, and scapes our pursuing; 
And when we don’t seek it, springs up at our feet. 

“Now, you see, there’s a moral that lies in the clover, 
And the lesson it reads you, mavourneen, is clear ; 
Don’t seek the world over for some better lover, 

When sure it’s myself who am loving you here.” 

Then Nora looked up, and she answered demurely, 
That the voice of the clover she’d meekly obey; 

She would strive to content her with what had been 
sent her, 

And just take the good gift that lay in her way. 

Now away with the sage that would scorn the bright 
omen, 

And say that no luck in a clover can be, 

For a four-bladed clover gave Nora her lover, 

And the same blessed leaflets gave Nora to me. 


PLOUGHED UNDER 


75 


PLOUGHED UNDER 

I saw a field of rich, green clover grow, 

Its honey-laden blossoms fair to see, 

And turning to the owner who stood by, 

I asked what time the harvesting would be. 

’Twill not be gathered in.” “ How then ? ” 

I cried, 

Have you no recompense for all your toil ? ” 

The farmer smiled ; he was more wise than I; 

I plough it under to enrich the soil.” 

And all at once I seemed to see more clear 
Some things that I had tried to comprehend : 

Has not the heart, like that broad field, its growths 
That never seem to reach their destined end ? 

Its early dreams that vanish unfulfilled ? 

Its youthful hopes that perish ere their prime ? 

Its fond affections and its tender love, 

Borne down before their perfect blossom time ? 

I mused on these, and as I turned my feet 
Back to the streets where crowds surge and 
turmoil, 

I smiled and said in tranquil, sweet content: 

God ploughs them under to enrich the soil.” 


76 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


PURITY 

There came to earth a fair, white soul, 

A little spotless child, 

Undimmed by any evil breath, 

And by no sin beguiled; 

And never there fell a flake of snow, 

And never a lily bud might blow, 

So pure and undefiled ; 

And the watching angels smiled to see 
That white soul in its purity. 

There dwelt on earth a tempted soul, 

A man whose youth had flown, 

And the subtle tempter had no snare 
His spirit had not known ; 

Yet he stood erect, untouched by blame, 
And he felt, unscorched, the hottest flame, 
Upheld by God alone; 

And the angels sang aloud to see 
That white soul in its purity. 

There dwelt on earth a fallen soul, 

Dark were his sin-stained years; 

And all the past was blurred to him 
By his remorseful tears; 


PURITY 


77 


Then o’er his heart there flowed the blood 
Of Calvary, a crimson flood ; 

No more his guilt appears. 

And the angels stand in awe to see 
That white soul in its purity. 




THE FIRST FRUITS 


TO A SEA-SHELL 
What is the song thou singest to me, 

Shell of the beautiful, bright blue sea? 

Thou hast ridden the crest of the dancing foam, 
Where the bark was joyfully speeding home; 

Thou hast felt the warmth of the sun’s bright beam, 
Where waters glisten and sail-tops gleam ; 

Thou hast been fanned by the gladsome breeze, 
That scattered the sprays; dost thou sing of these ? 

What is the song thou singest to me, 

Shell of the beautiful, boundless sea? 

Is thy voice a sigh for a distant land, 

For a fairer clime, and a sunnier strand ? 

Wouldst thou tell of the grottoes, all treasure-lined, 
And safe from the diver’s power to find ? 

Of the coral branch with its spiral stems, 

Of the lucent amber, and sparkling gems? 

What is the song thou singest to me, 

Shell of the wild and stormy sea? 

Thou hast been where the waves like thunder crashed 
And the whirlwind reared, and the lightnings flashed 
Thou hast bounded high with the ocean’s shock 
When the ship was tossed on the piercing rock; 
Tellest thou of the mariner’s cry, borne past 
And lost in the sound of the rushing blast ? 


TO A SEA-SHELL 


/ 


79 


What is the song thou singest to me, 

Shell of the mournful, restless sea? 

A dirge for the young and the brave who sleep 
In the silent halls of the mighty deep ? 

For the true of heart, and the fair of face, 

Who are locked in its secret burial place ? 

Or a wail for the watchers upon the shore 
Who wait for the loved who return no more ? 

Not these the songs thou singest to me, 

Shell of the mournful, sounding sea ? 

Though sweet, and plaintive, and weird thy tone, 
The music thou breathest is not thine own. 
Fragile and light is thy tiny form, 

The toy of the wave, the sport of the storm, 

Yet thou in thy low and murmuring strain 
Dost echo the infinite sea’s refrain. 

So may my heart be, like unto thee, 

Shell of the infinite, sounding sea, 

As frail as thou, and as light of range, 

The disdain of fortune, the plaything of change, 
Tossed for a day on the shores of time, 

Yet may it echo a song sublime; 

True to its sea may its murmurings prove, 

And give back the voice of God’s infinite love. 


8o 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


THE DREAMER 

There was a dreamer once: he looked 
Upon a rugged, unhewn stone, 

And saw therein a nobler form 

And more divine, than men had known; 
He dreamed, then rose, supreme and grand, 
The sculptured statue from his hand. 

There was a dreamer once : he saw 
A track across an unknown sea, 

With hands that beckoned to the west 
From shade of palm and cocoa tree: 

He dreamed, then found, with sails unfurled, 
A pathway to the western world. 

There was a dreamer once ; aye, more, 

Good never came unto mankind, 

No gain in knowledge, freedom, strength, 

No broader vision of the mind, 

But that some dreamer great or low, 

Had first dreamed that it might be so. 

Let toil go on, the world has need 
Of brawny arms and skilful hands; 

Let hammers strike, and anvils ring, 

Ships bear their loads to far-off lands, 

And busy wheels turn with the stream, 

But still, O dreamer, dream thy dream ! 


THEY SHALL NO MORE GO OUT 81 


THEY SHALL NO MORE GO OUT 

“ And he shall no more go out.”— Rev. j ; 12. 

They shall no more go out: O ye 

Who speak earth’s farewells through your tears, 

Who see your cherished ones go forth, 

To come not back through weary years; 

There is a place, there is a shore, 

From which they shall go out no more. 

They shall no more go out: O ye 
Whose friends have journeyed farther yet, 
Whose loved will not return again, 

For all your pleading or regret, 

They wait you at the sheltered door 
From which they shall go out no more. 

No chariot wheels roll from those gates; 

No bridled steed impatient stands; 

No stately caravan moves forth 
To cross through silent, desert lands ; 

No swelling sail, no dropping oar; 

O joy, they shall go out no more ! 



82 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


THE RIPENED WHEAT 

“ Like as a shock of corn cometh in, in its season .”—Job J -26. 

Bring violets, their dew undried, 

Bring roses, on which rain-drops start; 

For he hath kept till eveningtide 
The morning freshness of the heart; 

Yet let the ivy, deep and green 
With time’s slow leafage, o’er him lean, 

And at his head, and at his feet, 

Bind thou for him the ripened wheat. 

The strong-armed battler for the right, 

Whose sword dealt no ignoble blow; 

Who knew no fear; but took delight 
In no misfortune of his foe ; 

Whose word leaped from truth’s clearest springs, 
Whose love was for all living things; 

What virtue lacked he ? It is meet: 

Bind thou for him the ripened wheat. 

He loitered not when God cried, “ Speed ! ” 
Nor hastened when God said, “ Be still ” ; 

Or lowly act, or lofty deed, 

He wrought with heart, and mind, and will; 


THE RIPENED WHEAT 


83 


And as the man whose work is done, 

Looks calmly towards the setting sun, 

So waited he death’s face to greet: 

Bind thou for him the ripened wheat. 

And since the full-eared, golden grain, 
Bent with its richness in the field, 

Must meet the sickle, else in vain 
Would be its precious harvest yield; 

Since not one stalk when perfect made 
Must miss the keen, descending blade, 

The reaper, O not stern, but sweet, 

Said, “Bind him with my ripened wheat.” 





8 4 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


REST AT EVENING 

He sat him down at evening; he was weary with the 
close 

Of the day, and of the journey, and he languished for 
repose ; 

The strong sword he had wielded, now had fallen from 
his grasp, 

E’en the staff the pilgrim leans on, was too heavy for his 
clasp; 

His wayworn feet were failing; he had sunk but for 
the aid 

Of the outstretched hands that held him, as the last slow 
step was made. 

Then his head drooped lower, lower, upon his quiet 
breast, 

And a deep sleep fell upon him; sweet was his evening 
rest. 

Had he dreams ? He never told them ; had he visions ? 
None could see; 

And none guessed what the secret of such repose could be. 

The watchers lowered their voices, so peaceful was the 
sight; 

Then the darkness closed about him, and the stillness of 
the night. 


REST AT EVEN 1 NG 8 5 

He woke and it was morning : O refreshed with sleep 
was he; 

Not the young hart on the mountain, rose so glad, and 
strong, and free; 

Not the eagle, from its eyrie soaring grandly towards 
the sun, 

Not the sun itself, rejoicing in the race it had to run; 

O my waker, fresh from slumber, O my sleeper ’neath 
the sod; 

Asleep to sin and sorrow, but awake to joy, to God ! 





86 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


THE FLIGHT OF THE WILD GEESE 
A rush of wings, a flash of white 
Across the clear blue sky: 

The farmer from his bare, brown fields, 
Looked suddenly on high; 

The busy housewife paused to lift 

Her eyes, and thought on winter thrift, 

As swifter than the hunted deer, 

As swift as hope, as swift as fear, 

O’er miles unnumbered, onward sped 
The wild geese flying overhead. 

From northern hills and northern streams, 
From forests deep and green, 

O’er rugged mountains wild and bleak, 

And o’er the dark ravine, 

O’er peaceful vale, and fertile plain, 

O’er stores of newly-gathered grain, 

O’er stately groves of southern pine, 

Where trails the moss and clings the vine, 
And roses blossom, onward sped 
The wild geese flying overhead. 

O’er spacious hall and humble cot, 

O’er school, and church, and mill, 

Where eager brains, or hard, rough hands, 
Their daily tasks fulfill; 


THE FLIGHT OF THE WILD GEESE 87 


O’er smiles and tears, o’er death and birth, 
O’er scenes of woe, and scenes of mirth, 
But never o’er one lonely spot 

On which God’s love and care were not, 
O’er miles unnumbered, onward sped 
The wild geese flying overhead. 







88 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


THE RETURN OF THE BUFFALO 

In the fall of 1890 a series of outbreaks were threatened among 
the western reservation Indians, due to excitement brought about 
by the belief in the coming of an Indian Messiah, who was to ac¬ 
complish three essential things: the white people W'ere, all at one 
time, to leave the Indian country, the dead Indians were to come 
to life again and re-people their old country, and the buffalo were 
to return in numbers as of old .—Libretto of the Indian Congress, 
Tan-American Exposition. 


They are listening on our western plains; 

Not for the war-drum’s beat; 

Not as men waited at Lucknow 
For the tread of martial feet; 

Not as old Carmel’s prophet knelt 

i 

To hear the sound of rain ; 

They wait to hear their vanished herds 
Sweep o’er the plains again; 

To hear as they heard long ago 
The tramping of the buffalo. 

No spectral throng, whose flying hoofs 
Shall leave no track behind; 

Not driven by the prairie fire, 

Or sped on by the wind ; 

But quickened once more into life, 

And urged on by the braves 


THE RETURN OF THE BUFFALO 

Who at the same Great Spirit’s call, 

Shall come back from their graves; 

And speed, as they sped long ago, 

The tramping herds of buffalo. 

Their land no more shall bear the print 
Made by the stranger’s tread, 

Their children at the stranger’s hands 
No more shall lack for bread, 

And nevermore their people’s hearts 
Shall quake at war’s alarms, 

For strength drawn from that night of rest 
Shall nerve their warriors’ arms; 

The end of pain, the end of woe, 

Come with the tramping buffalo. 

They are listening on our western plains : 

And doth not One draw nigh, 

In pity for the listening ear 
And for the watchful eye? 

He hath compassion for those hearts, 

And not for theirs alone, 

O ye, who while you weep for them, 

Keep vigils of your own, 

And in your dreams, hear faint and low 
The tramping of the buffalo. 


90 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


ASLEEP 

In his snow-white garments dressed, 
With the roses on his breast, 

They have wrapped him for his rest. 

And the pure, pale rose’s blow 
Is not whiter than the snow 
Of the hand that lies below. 

And upon the half-veiled eyes 
Soft and dreamy beauty lies, 

Like the peace of Paradise. 

Let your tears flow full and free; 
Not less sweet his sleep shall be, 
Who lies here so peacefully; 

And the drops that fall apace 
Will not wipe away the trace 
Of the smile upon his face. 

Woe o’er other hearts may sweep, 
But no shadow e’er shall creep 
O’er this child that smiles in sleep. 


ASLEEP 


91 


Other lashes may be wet 
With the warm tears of regret, 

Not these where the calm is set. 

Other lips in bitter need 

Shall cry out, and none may heed, 

But these shall not learn to plead. 

Other brows the thorn may wear, 
And the weight of sorrow bear, 

This shall be untouched by care. 

Other hands may sow in vain, 

Reap in bitterness and pain, 

Not these ’neath the roses lain. 

Other feet may go astray, 

Miss the straight and narrow way, 
But not these so still to-day. 

Heavenly portals others win 
After conflict fierce with sin, 

He shall spotless enter in. 

Would you wake him if you might ? 
He but sleepeth through the night, 
And shall wake at morning light. 



THE FIRST FRUITS 


Lean down once more about his head, 
And let your trusting prayers be said, 
Then steal away with quiet tread. 

Christ, thou merciful and mild, 

Who on little children smiled, 

Keep thou watch above this child. 


BY THE GRAVE OF A CHILD 


93 


BY THE GRAVE OF A CHILD 

I asked beside a little grave, 

“What means, Lord, this decreeing?” 

Then while my tears fell on the sod, 

I said, “It is the will of God ; 

Why ask for clearer seeing ? 

If this were not, or he in truth 
Might rise now for my crying, 

With length of days before him spread, 
And if his feet might nobly tread 
All paths before him lying. 

And if he from the wise and good 
All greatness should inherit, 

The weak be upheld by his might, 

And evil things shrink out of sight, 

Abject beneath his spirit; 

Say now, while men and angels looked 
Upon his holy living, 

How might they speak their highest thought 
Of his true life ? ‘ God’s will is wrought, 
For this we make thanksgiving ! ’ 

No more, then, than the child hath done 
Would wait the man’s pursuing; 


94 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


One in the field might sow and reap, 

One lieth here in peace asleep, 

One will wrought in the doing. 

Naught else remains ! Saints do but choose 
God’s will than theirs the rather; 

The martyr’s song it pulseth through, 

And God the Son hath died to do 
The will of God the Father. 

Had this child fellowship with these, 

Dark with the blood drop’s staining? 

% 

Had Christ the sinless, undefiled, 

And martyr, saint, and little child, 

The self-same cup for draining ? 

The cup one Father gave them ! Yea, 
Through bitterness or sweetness, 

In ripened years or just begun, 

The life in which God’s will is done, 

Hath reached its full completeness. 

To do God’s will and live, I hold, 

Is gaining and no losing, 

Yet count I it as surely blest 
To do the will of God and rest; 

Be thine, O God, the choosing.” 


THE SPIRIT'S BLINDNESS 


95 


THE SPIRIT’S BLINDNESS 

I have revered the mysteries of the spirit, 

Its groundless hope, its sudden nameless fear; 

Its subtle feeling of an unseen presence; 

Its vague alarm that tells a foe is near; 

Its strange divining of a coming gladness, 

Its dread foreboding of a grief to be; 

And yet sometimes I sit me down in wonder, 
And marvel at the things it doth not see. 

I have been one around the social hearth-stone, 
The harp was touched, the merry tale was told ; 

Laughter and mirth were flowing there as freely, 
The song was sung as gayly as of old ; 

And no lip trembled ’neath its mask of jesting, 
And no voice faltered in the festal strain; 

We felt no warning, yet the voices blending 
In that last song would never blend again. 

And I have loosed a friendly clasp as lightly, 
And turned as gayly, as in moments past, 

And have not heard the faintest inward whisper 
Or felt one throb to tell me ’twas the last. 


96 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


And I have loved, and absence had no dimness 
Wherewith to pale affection’s gentle glow, 

Yet grief befell my well-beloved : heedless, 

I smiled the while she wept, and did not know. 

And I have looked on some familiar landscape 
With wandering thought and half-averted gaze, 

And have not known it was the farewell vision 
That memory would hoard in after days. 

A stone, perchance, might be as dull and senseless 
Some faithful brute might no forewarnings find ; 

But, oh my soul with all thy boasted prescience 
Of things to be, that thou shouldst be so blind ! 

I would not scorn the mysteries that enfold thee; 
Fearful and strange is thy “ immortal dower ” ; 

Yet I would have thee walk, my soul, in meekness, 
And leaning humbly on an unseen power; 

And trusting not to thy own hopes or fearings, 

On God alone let thy calm resting be, 

That He may watch what time thy fears are sleeping, 
And guard thee from the ills thou dost not see. 


THE EVENING STAR AT SEA 


97 


THE EVENING STAR AT SEA 

On every side the deep sea rolls, 

Its billows surge and foam ; 

The ship speeds on; no link remains 
Between me and my home. 

No dear, familiar sight is here; 

No form beloved is nigh; 

When suddenly the evening star 
Shines from the darkened sky. 

I oft have watched from hill or vale 
Its soft and gentle rays; 

But ne’er before its silver light 
So sweetly met my gaze. 

It shines, an object known and loved, 
Where all beside is strange; 

Above the dread, uncertain sea, 

A thing that will not change. 

Thus, O my soul, on life’s wide sea, 
Whate’er is left afar, 

There shines one object fixed and sure: 
Christ is that Evening Star. 


98 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


IN MEMORY OF JOHN HOWARD PAYNE 

He did not touch the sacred lyre to flatter kingly pride, 

Nor herald with triumphant strains the conqueror’s on¬ 
ward stride ; 

He did not wake the swelling tones to praise the tyrant’s 
power, 

Nor join the rout in joyful shout in might’s victorious 
hour. 

He did not gaily strike the chords for beauty in its bloom, 

Nor sound the mournful requiem o’er the fallen hero’s 
tomb; 

He did not summon with his song the happy bridal train, 

Nor breathe on air the wild despair of love bestowed in 
vain. 

He sang of home, the fair and blest, of home the placid 
isle, 

Where only bluest skies look down and greenest valleys 
smile \ 

Where faint and dying comes the sound of the storm- 
king’s angry roar, 

And the waves of life in surging strife break softly on the 
shore. 


IN MEMORY OF JOHN HO IVARB PAYNE 99 

He sang of home, where world-worn hearts forget the 
earth hath woes; 

He sang of home, where weary souls may rest in svveet 
repose; 

Where tender hands and gentle words make ever glad 
the day, 

And comes no fear, or starting tear, love cannot soothe 
away. 


He only breathed it soft and low, as ‘grateful prayers 
ascend, 

Yet millions listening caught the sound and hushed and 
still attend ; 

And they the loving ones of earth in tears their voices 
raise, 

“ He felt as we feel, he knelt as we kneel, sweet home to 
sing thy praise/' 


Who grasp the prize know not its worth, but those who 
vainly long ; 

The raptures that we may know flow freest in our song ; 

And he who best the incense poured for “ sweet home’s ” 
altar-stone, 

On the pitiless strand of a far-away land met death and 
died alone. 


100 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Where shall we lay his sacred dust ? With the departed 
great, 

Where princes, kings, and patriots are sepultured * in 
state ? 

No, not for him a gorgeous sleep ’neath spacious marble 
dome; 

Lay him to rest on the peaceful breast of his dear-loved. 
“ home, sweet home.” 



A ROSE-BUSH IN A GARDEN 


IOI 


A ROSE-BUSH IN A GARDEN 

You see this rose-bush by the garden walk, 

Its blossoms all a-blush and wet with dew; 

Now if some poet listened to our talk, 

And heard its story, fresh to him, and new, 

I think he would not ask a sweeter theme, 

Than this old rose-bush in full bloom, would seem. 

A story ? Nay, I cannot make it so, 

It has no climax, tell it how I may; 

Just one of God’s unfinished things, that go 
To make us thoughtful on a summer day, 

And glad to know that in the way most meet, 

He brings completeness from the incomplete. 

A happy maiden, once in days gone by, 

Loved one who loved her: this is all the tale. 
Then came a lover’s quarrel, like the sigh 
Of gentle zephyrs, when two blossoms frail 
Are fanned apart; but by one stem made fast, 

Will sway together when the breeze is past. 

But suddenly she sickened, and his love 
In swift imploring, sent a gift of flowers; 

Mock-orange, like those clusters there above, 

And roses such as grew in old-time bowers ; 


102 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


She knew full well the meaning that they spake, 

And smiled upon the blossoms for his sake. 

Then one who watched in silence by her bed 

And knew, as youth knows not, what death can dare, 
Stole from her hand a spray of roses red, 

And planted it within this garden fair; 

The red rose lived, its young shoots spread and grew, 
But she, wrapped in white roses, never knew. 

Full sixty springs this old rose-bush has grown, 

And lifted up green buds and tender leaves; 

Full sixty summers have its roses blown, 

And breathed their fragrance to the morns and eves, 
While that young love and hope slept in the dust; 
These blooms may be God’s token : wait, and trust. 




THE GALILEAN FISHERS 


103 


THE GALILEAN FISHERS 

We have toiled the whole of the night ! ” They were 
weary, heart and hand, 

With the strength put forth for naught : and the 
labor thrown away. 

We have taken nothing!” they said; but one drew 
nigh on the sand, 

And he saw their tired faces, and the nets that idle 
lay. 

Oh, the Master of all was he, and greater than wind or 
tide, 

And his heart was touched with pity at the weary 
looks they wore ; 

And he said, “Cast down the net ! ” Then from the 
vessel’s side 

Their strength could scarcely draw it, for the weight 
of the fish it bore. 

We have taken nothing,” they said; has it died away, 
that cry ? 

Is it echoed back from none save the Galilean hill ? 

Across no other wave, and beneath no other sky ? 

Master and Lord of us all, dost thou not hear it still ? 


104 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


We are toilers on life’s sea; art thou not one of our 
ban d ? 

Aye, with the pitying heart and the tender love of 
old! 

Bid us cast down the net; at the voice of thy command, 
For the labor we put forth, we shall draw a hundred - 
fold! 


TWO QUEENS 


105 


TWO QUEENS 
The queen is dead ! 

Forth from the castle rides with breathless speed 
A messenger; the hundreds hear and heed 
The loud acclaim; from street, and mart, and hill, 
The cry reverberates, and onward still, 

Till round the whole world like a mighty wave, 

The sound has rolled ; the nations make their moan 
For one who ruled so nobly from her throne; 

And kings and potentates bear to the grave 
With martial music, and with knightly tread, 

The rich, world-honored bier : the queen is dead. 

The queen is dead ! 

Meekly she passed from her small realm away, 

And only loving hearts will mourn her sway; 

For stricken subjects weeping children stand, 

Who loved the sceptre in her gentle hand. 

O queen so tender, royal, true, and wise, 

Who will affirm thy reign has been less great 
Because few only knew thy high estate, 

Because thy rule was o’er few destinies ? 

And one day God will place upon thy head 
A crown unworn on earth : the queen is dead. 


io6 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


LET THE FLOWERS GO WITHER 

“ Since he’s dead from the place, 

Why let all go with him, let the flowers go wither! ” 

— Translated by Mrs. Browning. 
From the Greek of Bion. 

O poet, O singer, of days long ago, 

Full well thou hast cadenced the language of woe; 

And how didst thou learn in that far ancient time, 

Just the sob of the heart thou hast placed in thy rhyme, 

Let the flowers go wither ? 

Was friendship as loyal, affection as true, 

Did they love in the old days, as we in the new ? 

Yea, yea, time has altered all else we could name, 

Since these words were sung, but the heart is the same : 

Let the flowers go wither ! 

For we too have laid a dear face in the mould, 

And our souls have cried out as thy lips did of old ; 

We have turned, sick at heart, from all things that seemed 
fair: 

What need of the beauty that she could not share ? 

Let the flowers go wither ! 

But nay, not for us be repinings like these, 

We will make wide the casement, and welcome the breeze ; 


LET THE FLOWERS GO WITHER 107 


We will bid the dew sparkle, and bid the sun shine, 

Nor evermore echo those sad words of thine, 

Let the flowers go wither ! 

For we grieve not, O poet, with thy barren grief; 

A dove from a far land has brought us a leaf; 

We know of a region where falleth no dearth ; 

We might still wait in hope, though God said to all earth, 

Let the flowers go wither ! 


THE HIRST FRUITS 


io8 


YE THAT ARE STRONG 

“ Who hath given us richly all things to enjoy .”—i Tim. 6 : jJ. 

“ But take heed lest by any means this liberty of yours become 
a stumbling-block to them that are weak .”—i Cor. 8 : g. 

Not because God’s grapes are evil and unholy, 

Not because he found not all things “ very good,” 

Not because he hath not said within his Eden, 

All things are given unto you for food ; 

But because of them, his weak and tempted children, 
Who cannot sip the cup and put it by, 

Who cannot taste the wine and not be drunken, 

Oh, shall not we forego it, you and I ? 

Do we think that they go down without a struggle ? 

Do we think they never dread and fear the foe ? 

Do we think that on the brink of the abysm 
They shrink not from the awful deep below ? 

Do we think that life, and love, and home, and honor, 
Are not dear to them as unto other men ? 

Oh, to these who with white faces strive and falter, 

Let us offer not the rich, red wine again ! 

Not because God’s grapes are evil or unholy, 

Not because he gave not “ all things to enjoy,” 

But for those who plead with him for their beloved, 
Their beloved whom the tempter would destroy. 



YE THAT ARE STRONG 109 

Oh, for their sakes who have wept while we were 
sleeping, 

Who keep vigils that our closed eyes do not see, 

In our pity, in our tender deep compassion, 

Let us add not to their sorrows that must be. 

Let them plead with us, my sisters, and my brothers, 
For those, their erring ones, who go astray; 

But lo, there is another hand that beckons, 

That bids us put the social cup away; 

A pierced hand, and from it there are flowing 
Drops redder than the wine we go to seek, 

“ Ye that are strong,” oh listen, “ought to bear 
The infirmities, beloved, of the weak.” 


110 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


ELISHA BY THE RIVER 

« He took up also the mantle of Elijah that fell from him, and 
went back and stood by the bank of Jordan ; And he took the 
mantle of Elijah that fell from him, and smote the waters.”— 
2 Kings 2: 13-14 • 

Ill fancy we behold him as he stands, 

The lone man with the mantle in his hands; 

He sees the stream, he hears the gentle quiver 
Of the light reeds, and all things seem the same 
As when his great, inspired master came, 

And smote the waters in Jehovah’s name; 

How strange to stand alone beside the river ! 

Gone is the presence that could raise his choice 
To all things noble; gone the mighty voice 
That, fearing not God’s thunders to deliver, 

Had roused his will to action, and had caught 
His spirit upward in ecstatic thought: 

What slow, dull spell upon his brain has wrought 
Since he came back and stood beside the river ? 

Undone, bereft, were it the coward’s part 
To wrap the mantle round his breaking heart, 

And cast him down, to strive no more forever ? 

Stay, prophet! Think not that for thee alone 
Are the drear Jordan, and the monotone 
Of its deep waters : mourning for our own, 

We too come back, and stand beside the river. 


ELISHA BY THE RIVER III 

It will be well for thee, it will be well 

For us, if thy high courage shall compel 

Our feeble hearts to strong and brave endeavor; 

If thy unswerving trust, thy steadfast hope, 

Shall rouse our souls to rise, and strive, and cope 
Nobly with grief. . . . He lifts the mantle up : 

Thank God, he stoops and smites upon the river ! 


I 12 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


SONGS 

I’ve heard the Alpine shepherd's voice 
Ring from the mountain’s height; 

I’ve heard the cottage songs that cheer 
The peasant’s hearth at night; 

I’ve heard the wandering minstrel ’neath 
The olive and the vine; 

And the blithe grape-gatherer whose song 
Flows smoothly with the Rhine ; 

And the gondolier as his light oar dips 
To the music of the sea ; 

But the songs my mother used to sing 
Are the sweetest songs to me. 

I’ve heard those airs the troubadour 
Gave to the breeze afar; 

And those the dark-eyed Spanish maid 
Sang to her light guitar; 

And the strains that once through the highland halls 
To the ancient harp hath rung; 

And the strange, wild melodies of old 
That Erin’s bards have sung ; 

And my heart hath felt the lingering spell 
Of the by-gone minstrelsy, 

But the songs my mother used to sing 
Are the sweetest songs to me. 


SONGS 


113 

I’ve heard the stately anthem peal 
Along the minster aisle, 

I’ve heard the grand Te Deum roll 
Round the cathedral pile; 

I’ve heard the slow and solemn chant 
Rise from the cloister dim, 

And through the twilight, soft and low, 

The nuns’ sweet vesper hymn ; 

And the songs of worshippers beneath 
No roof but the forest tree; 

But the songs my mother used to sing 
Are the sweetest songs to me. 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


114 


LENGTH OF DAYS 

“ He asked life of thee, and thou gavest it him, even length of 
days forever and ever .”—Psalm 21: 4. 

They prayed Not yet! Not ill his time of youth, 

To leave untrodden all life’s fairest ways ! 

God heard that prayer, and straightway gave to him 
Forever and forever, length of days. 

They fear no more lest he perchance should miss 
Some wished for joy because of life’s brief span : 
Immortal years shall bring his hopes to pass, 

And yield the rich fulfillment of each plan. 

They fear no more lest soon he should lay down 
Unfinished, some loved task he has begun, 

A child who falls reluctantly asleep, 

Before the toy it tried to shape is done. 

The book of knowledge will not close for him, 

E’er he has mastered all he seeks to know, 

No voice will startle him with, “ Get thee lienee ! ” 
And none will ever say, “ Arise and go I ” 

No voyager swept back by sudden gales 
Before the port he steers for is in sight, 

0 

But one who glides unhindered on smooth streams, 
With vernal joy, and ever new delight. 


LENGTH OF DAYS 


US 

Men sadly think on all he might have been 
In time to come, and speaking- in his praise, 

Say mournfully, “ A short and fleeting life ! M 
But God sends back the answer, “ Length of days ! ” 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


116 


OUTWARD BOUND 

(A Farewell to Haley’s Comet) 

0 swift, silent guest, 

Who into the west 

Speedeth on like the courser, the arrow, the wind, 

Thy soft, shining light 
Dieth into the night, 

But the flame thou hast kindled, still glows in .the mind. 

What art thou ? The sword 
That the hand of the Lord 
Flashed forth at the gateway when Eden was lost ? 

Or a brand that was hurled 
From the heavenly world, 

As Lucifer fled with his impious host ? 

When on Mount Moriah 
In sword and in fire, 

Rose the Hebrews’s despair as the last sacrifice, 

Thy token, we know, 

Nerved the arm of the foe, 

And drew the last look of the slain toward the skies. 

The fancy shrinks back 
From pursuing the track 
To be marked out by thee, the way to be trod; 


OUTWARD BOUND 


1 * 7 

♦ 

We are human and weak, 

Our minds dare not seek 
To grasp the abysms created of God. 

Yet we feel our hearts burn 
At the width thou wilt spurn ; 

O ship, to what port ? O bird, to what zone ? 

In the far-reaching spaces, 

Wilt thou find earth’s lost faces, 

Or catch the white light flowing down from God’s throne ? 

Perchance o’er thy course 
Swept chariot and horse, 

While Elijah, “ a man like as we are,” kept seat; 
Perchance o’er thy path 
Went the Christ, who still hath 
The print of the nails in his hands and his feet. 

And we murmur, “ Hosannah, 

He will come in like manner 
Who appointeth thy days and counteth thy years ! ” 
Bright herald proclaim 
His wonderful name, 

As thou threadest thy way through the intricate spheres. 


118 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


THE FINDING OF A STAR 

A student of the stars, grave-eyed and mild, 

Had wedded one who seemed in years a child; 

And loved her well, yet day by day at even, 

He climbed on high to watch the stars in heaven. 

And she, unused to dreary hours alone, 

Pined for the cheer that should have been her 
own; 

And coaxed him first in wilful, childish way, 

To leave the stars and look on her, to stay 

At her sweet bidding ! And the task she set 
At first seemed easy to his love, and yet, 

Ere long, as yearns the sailor for the main, 

So yearned he for his starlit watch again. 

She read the restless longing in his face, 

And strove no more to keep him from his place; 

But creeping softly up the tower stair, 

Like one who treads where meek saints are at 
prayer, 


THE FINDING OF A STAR 


119 


Knelt childlike at his feet, through vigils dim, 
Content that she might share his watch with him. 

He seldom heard her step, or turned his eye, 
From its fixed gaze, but when her gentle sigh 

Roused him, he laid his hand upon her head: 

She was his star on earth, he smiling said ; 

And e’er she said, half pouting, “ Would I were 
A star in the heavens ! ” his thought had turned 
from her. 

And wrapt in contemplation of the spheres, 

He never saw her soft eyes fill with tears. 

Then did the child-like plaint within her soul, 
School her to woman's patient self-control; 

And watching oft till night changed into morn, 
She chid her heart with womanly self-scorn : 

“ Can science, or philosophy, or art, 

No conquest gain, but that some woman’s heart 

“ Must bleed for it? Shall no man dare to seek 
New knowledge, lest it blanch some woman’s 
cheek ? 


120 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


“ God says unto the man, ‘ Live thou and know ! ’ 
But to the woman, oft he says not so, 

“ But only, 4 Live and love ! * Is that love best, 
That seeks to turn from any noble quest 

“The thing beloved? Nay, true love, free from 
blame 

Uplifts its object to all noble aim ; 

“ And since to love is all my woman’s part, 

Let me love well! Be still, my wayward heart!” 

Yet day by day there faded from her face 
The old, glad light, and in her smile the trace 

Of faint, unwonted sadness crept, yet none 
Discerned the change; poor flower that lacked 
the sun ! 

Then came a time when her step fell no more 
Upon the stair, yet lovely as before, 

She strove to hide her weakness from his sight, 
And asked him of the stars ; and when the night 

Would come, she ever bade him as of old 
Keep his long watch; and when at last he told. 


THE FINDING OF A STAR 


121 


With ardor like some boy’s, of how he sought 
For a new star, and told how all the thought 

Of men like him was turned to that one sphere, 
Unseen, but guessed ; and told his deadly fear 

That some more watchful, or some keener eye 
Would first discern its soft rays in the sky, 

And so snatch from him an immortal name, 

She smiled, and bade him seek for her that fame. 

So all night long he eager vigil kept, 

All night below, she lay as if she slept, 

Save when those watching saw her pale lips move 
In prayer, “ Lord, grant the wish of him I love! ” 

And at the dawn, there fell a gentle tread 
Upon the stair: “ Peace, for thy love is dead ! ” 

And at that moment, in the sky afar, 

There flashed upon his sight another star. 





III 


Virginia’s Flower 










































VIRGINIA’S FLOWER 


You ask what bloom of plant or tree 
Shall old Virginia’s emblem be: — 

And can you ask, you who have trod 
In her fair fields her flowery sod, 

Or sent the plough-share’s arrow through 
The green heart of her quivering clod, 
Where, pearly with the morning dew, 
The night-closed petals ope anew ?— 
There the wild morning glory’s cup, 

Or white or blue, is lifted up, 

Filled with the drops that dawn distills; 
And there the passion-flower thrills 
The thoughtful eye that loves to trace 
Upon its upturned, mystic face, 

The purple robe, the crown of thorn, 

The cross, the blood drops found thereon 
There flutters forth in filmy grace 
The queen’s white handkerchief of lace : 
And there the cornflower’s vase of jade, 

I2 5 


126 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


With blue enamel deep inlaid, 

O’erflows with petals fringed and frayed; 
The oxeye daisy pure and cold 
Lifts there its starry white and gold 
By which the maiden reads her lot, 

“ He loves me ! ” or “ He loves me not ! ” ; 
And there the milk-weed’s orange flame 
Puts, in bright mockery of its name, 

The oriental lamp to shame, 

While wheels, and whirls, and circles nigh, 
The black, bespangled butterfly; 

And there the yellow goat’s rue stretches 
Its graceful fronds 'mid falling vetches, 
Which sprang and grew, as wise men know, 
When in the wheatfield, long ago, 

The enemy sowed tares, and went 
His way : and still where’er is sent 
The glance upon the grain intent, 

The trailing purple vetches blow ; 

There with his warlike spear unbent, 

The larkspur rises, marked alway 
With lines that trace the letter A, 

Because it first sprang where the blood 
Of Ajax stained the ground unrecked ; 
There flits, in merry maidenhood, 

The black-eyed Susan, gaily decked; 


VIRGINIA'S FLOWER 


127 


There with its glowing disk unflecked, 
The sundrop sheds its burning ray ; 
And there the blue weed’s smiling eyes 
Reflect the color of the skies ; 

And there, enmeshed with everything, 
The buttercup and clover spring. 


You who have loosed the bridal reins 
Along her green-edged country lanes, 

Fresh with the newly-fallen shower, 

Where the white blackberry blossoms sheathe 
Their swords of thorn until that hour 
When pilfering hands shall be defied; 

Or, where the sweetbriar’s branches wreathe 
The broken boulder’s rugged side, 

Or the pink wild rose’s petals breathe 
Their subtle perfume far and wide; 

There in strange, arabesque designs 
The dark Virginia creeper twines; 

There while the passing zephyr swirls 
Their pendant blooms like clustered pearls, 
The laden locust branches tower ; 

While o’er them, one dark mass of green, 
Lined with a light and silver sheen, 

The spreading grape leaves form a bower; 


128 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


And ’mid the tortuous, twisted lines 
Of creeping, climbing, clambering vines, 
In many a brilliant bugle shines 
The scarlet of the trumpet flower. 


And can you ask, you who have wound 
The by-paths where her brooklets bound, 
And brushed the bending elder bough 
With snow-white bridal beauty crowned; 
Or leaned with a relaxing brow 
Above the globe-flower’s laden branch, 

An Atlas on whose shoulders staunch 
Weigh frosty worlds orbicular ? 

There glows the scarlet fire pink, 

A lone star, bright, particular; 

And there the sparkling jewel-weeds 
Shake out their tinkling topaz beads; 

And .there leans o’er the streamlet’s brink 
The ageratum, soft as fur, 

In downy white or lavender ; 

And there lifts up its mitred head 

The bright lobelia whose rich red 

Is cardinal; or that whose blue 

Is like the high priest’s robe ; there spread 

The green fronds of the fern that dips 


VIRGINIA'S FLOWER 


129 


From out the mossy bank that drips 
With drops like slowly falling dew, 
While underneath the brooklet drones, 
And soothes the ever-listening stones, 
With low and lulling monotones; 
There, over all, above the rocks, 

The trailing woodbine interlocks 
Its clasping vines, its vials full 
Of odors; there, less pale or dull, 

Than Yukon's brightest ore might be, 
Or reddest reef in Banda’s sea, 

The honeysuckles brave and bold, 
Flaunt forth their coral and their gold ; 
And like some wild spring’s overflow, 
The clematis, through light and shade, 
Leaps down, a foaming, white cascade, 
Unto the quiet pool below. 

You ask what bloom of plant or tree 
Shall old Virginia’s emblem be : — 

You who have wandered o’er the spot 
By plough and harrow both forgot, 
Where o’er the pallid sands of grey 
The lupine hath its mantle spread, 

Like to the Hebrew priest of old, 

Who from the altar took away 


130 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


The fading ashes dim and cold, 

And placed a purple cloth instead; 

Or where the yarrow lifts its bloom 
Above its thousand leaves, as pure 
As when Achilles, swift to wound, 

Essayed, with nobler skill, to cure, 

And many a warrior’s hurt was bound 
With healing balms drawn from the ground ; 
There, while the covey takes its ease, 

Asleep with close-crouched heads, or makes 
Unhunted flights about the brakes 
Nod cameo-tinted partridge peas; 

There, ’scaped from near-by fields of grain, 
And leaving crimson-purple fire, 

Like Sampson’s foxes in its train, 

The bright corn-cockle lights the plain ; 

And there the tall, straight ironweed 
Lifts up its stately purple spire, 

In hues more radiant indeed 

Than those sent out from ancient Tyre, 

When all its far-famed ships of yore, 

Its colors unto Carthage bore; 

There shines the thoroughwort, arrayed 
In shining garb, and o’er the rust 
Of fading leaf, and crumbling blade, 

Scatters its silver like the dust; 


VIRGINIA'S FLOWER 


And there the purple thistle rears 
Its royal head mid brandished spears, 

Meet emblem for the crags that keep 
Stern watch where Bruce and Wallace sleep; 
And there with rosy purple gloss 
The gay gerardia branches toss, 

By every passing zephyr whirled, 

The madcaps of the flowery world ; — 

But if far banished from the earth 
Where first they sprang and lived and grew, 
Gone are their laughter and their mirth, 

And all the gladness that they knew ; 

True souls that keep where’er they roam 
The faithful love of hearth and home ; — 
And there, each topaz set with pearls, 

The many-flowered aster swirls 
Its long and graceful strands, which vie 
With that bright rosary complete 
With which Mohammed’s sons repeat 

9 

The names of Allah—ninety-nine — 

The beautiful and the divine ; 

And there in tall and slender grace, 

The yellow sunflower lifts its face 
Towards bright Apollo’s speeding car, 

And follows all his daily race, 

With true love faithful from afar; 


I 3 2 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


And while the night-bird softly trills, 

And the night-wind lower, lower stills 
Its deep, sonorous, murmuring croon, 

The evening primrose gently fills 
Its golden chalice with the rills 
That trickle from the silver moon ; 

Or with those drops of darker glow 
That from bright Vega’s vintage flow; 

And there the love-vine’s tendrils cling 
About the plumy golden-rod, 

As if the gleaming dove of old, 

Of which the royal David told, 

Whose feathers were of yellow gold, 

Were snared within a golden net 
In which it feebly fluttered yet; 

And there the scarlet sumach stands 
And with the flaming sword it wields, 

The reddest of all fiery brands, 

Defends the Eden of the fields ; 

And there, most precious in our sight, 

The many everlastings rise, 

Unfolding in their spotless white, 
Immortal hopes to mortal eyes. 

You who have crossed in sunny hours 
The meadow broidered thick with flowers, 


VIRGINIA'S FLOWER 


133 


And crushed with careless foot and light 
The chickweed’s tiny blossoms white; 

Or trod where blossoms all around 
The riotous gill-o’er-the-ground; 

Or watched the breezes gently stir 
The airy balls of gossamer 
Whose filaments, loosed one by one, 

Float down like fleecy clouds upon 
The dandelion’s yellow sun ; 

Or seen the myriad bluets lie 
Bright stars upon a mossy sky; 

Or met the springing meadow-sweet, 

A dainty maiden fresh and neat; 

Or watched the pointed blue-eyed grass 
Look shyly up at those who pass; 

There smiles with soft, cerulean glance, 
Which shines through legend and romance, 
A tiny bloom of gentle spell; — 

For, as the angels know full well, 

Where’er a true heart breathes a prayer 
For one beloved in absence, there 
Springs up before the heavenly view 
This little floweret of blue, 

That all the earth may know no spot 
Uncheered by the forget-me-not; 

There blooms the stately meadow-rue, 



134 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Bathing its whiteness in the dew; 

And there the yellow loosestrife stands 
Whose leaves laid on the cattle’s yoke 
Turns wrath to peace, as might the stroke 
Of gentle and accustomed hands; 

And there the purple monk’s-hood bends, 
And with its grace and beauty blends 
The power to make, (as Norsemen tell), 
The wearer’s form invisible. 

You who beneath the sheltering ledge 
Of some secluded woodland’s edge 
Have spied the first hepatica 
Which heard spring calling from afar, 

And in its wrap of softest fur 
Has ventured out to welcome her; 

Or seen the pure arbutus’ spray 

Like pale pink shells on sands of grey;— 

The first fair floweret that met, 

Above the melting ice and snow, 

Sad eyes with homesick tear-drops wet 
In rock-bound Plymouth long ago ;— 

Or found the wood anemone 
Which mourning Venus caused to spring, 
That her undying grief might be 
A sacred, unforgotten thing : 


VIRGINIA'S FLOWER 


135 


That year by year it might be said, 

“ Weep for Adonis : he is dead.”— 

Or leaned where sheltered from the cold 
By tender leaflets fold on fold, 

The wild strawberry blossoms showed 
Their faces, true babes in the wood : 

Or tracked to its deep solitude 
The pansy wild and purple-hued ; 

Or culled with rash hand, undenied, 

The coreopsis at its side, 

Whose precious ore, of worth untold, 

In nature’s crucible well tried, 

From year to year comes forth as gold: 

Or seized across the rocky rent 
The columbine, whose crimson tent 
Doth such neutrality maintain, 

That there the eagle and the dove 
May meet in amity and love ; 

You who the mandrake’s flower have sought, 
A little bashful, pale-faced maid 
Hid 'neath her green umbrella’s shade 
In brightest sunshine as in rain ; 

You who with inward ear have caught, 
Within half-hidden flowery dells, 

The pealing of the soft blue bells 
Of the campanula, which chime 


136 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


For bird and bee the curfew time ; 

Or heard with subtle inward sense 
Jack-in-the-Pulpit’s eloquence; 

Or seen the starry campion, 

A sleeping beauty ’neath the spell 
Of magic slumbers, who sleeps well, 

And heeding not the smile or frown 
Of day, rests on in deep repose 
Till Eve, the destined prince, stoops down 
And bids her lovely eyes unclose; 

Or plucked the rose-hued bleeding heart, 
The careless floweret that forgot 
To plead with Cupid, “ Wound me not,” 
And, pierced with his unerring dart, 

Has felt since then love’s poignant smart; 
Or cut the waving maiden-hair 
That some dark beauty used to wear; 

Or have uplifted from the ground 
The Indian pipe, its form as fair 
As if just dropped by spirit hands 
From hunting-grounds in unseen lands; 
Or like the fairy prince have found 
The lady’s slipper, dropped by night 
By some gay wood-nymph in her flight, 
The Cinderella of the glade ; 

Or where some dark-eyed Indian maid 


VIRGINIA'S FLOWER 


With fearless footsteps oft hath strayed, 
Have plucked—her footprint still within— 
The flower men call the moccasin ; 

Or moved where blossoms near and far 
The pale, red-flecked pipsissewa, 

Each pointed leaf of green and white 
An arrow carved from malachite, 

As if great Glusocap, the chief, 

Whose heart still feels the red man’s grief, 
Had scattered through the wood by night 
The weapons that in spirit lands 
He still shapes for his warriors’ hands. 


You ask what bloom of plant or tree 
Shall old Virginia’s emblem be : — 

And can you ask who have explored 
The stillness of her leafless bowers 
And seen, in dark November hours, 

The pale witch-hazel’s yellow flowers; — 
The only branch among the hoard 
In winter’s tabernacle stored, 

Whose chosen stem, like Aaron’s rod 
Bursts into bloom, ordained of God ; 

Or while within the thawing streams 
Bright fins flash forth their silver gleams, 


138 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Have seen the shad-bush pure and pale, 
Stand forth and shiver in the gale; 

Or seen in some neglected space 
The festal plum-trees, dressed in white 
Like those wise virgins who by night 
Went forth to meet the bridegroom’s face: 
Or in some wayside glen have seen 
The hawthorn’s white amid the green, 
Caught in the thicket like the ram 
That stayed the hand of Abraham ; 

You who have walked the tangled maze 
Of deep, secluded woodland ways, 

And seen the ash’s feathery fringe 
Fall white against the green leaf’s tinge; 
Or watched the red-bud, rosy link 
Between the purple and the pink; 

You who have seen the clustered bloom 
With which the haw dispels the gloom 
Of shaded forests ; or have seen 
Against a darkened world of green, 

The dogwood’s whitening blossoms blow 
Like fluttering, falling flakes of snow;— 
By day they dazzle, and by night 
Withstand the darkness with their light, 
Till through the trees the hastening moon 
Brings up, with horse, foot, and dragoon, 


VIRGINIA'S FLOWER 


139 


Its silver lances ; in that hour 
The dogwood shines, a starry shower, 


You who have climbed in verdant June 
Along the sea-bathed, sandy dune, 

And watched the Spanish bayonet 
Defend its fair and waxen flowers, 

Pale maidens in well-guarded towers ; 

Or joyously your face have set 
To meet the rising wind that blows, 
Salt-laden, o’er the reedy marsh, 

And soothes with rough hands, if not harsh, 
The glowing mallow's cheek of rose; 

You who have left the idle oar 
Along the lowland river shore, 

Or moored the skiff within the brake 
Beside the swamp-hid inland lake; 

And stretched a stalwart arm to spurn 
The branches of the giant fern ; 

Or reached the open, green and cool, 

Where round the still, sequestered pool 
The Atamasco lilies stand, 

Veined marble from the sculptor’s hand; 

Or stooped where water-lilies press 
Their fair, reflected loveliness 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Upon the glassy surface; queens 
Who float in state through royal scenes, 
White-robed and golden crowned, their largess 
Flung forth from green and leafy barges; 

Or where the iris flags unfurl, 

In purple, white, and yellow sheens, 

Their silken folds beneath the knoll, 

Where grey, impendent mosses curl 
About the oak-tree’s bough and bole, 

Have trod the rich, emblazoned scroll 
Of many violets enwrought, 

With purple, white, and yellow fraught; — 

(O France, still let thy lilies blow 
In memory of thy royal line ; 

Who that can shed a tear for woe 
Would bid thee spurn that flower of thine? 

But where the gathered dust is deep 
O’er St. Helena’s empty shrine, 

Should not some tiny floweret keep 
Its faithful watch, its eyelids wet 
With dewy tears ? . . . The violet! 

And where the eagle sleeps of late, 

Enthroned anew in royal state, 

Should not some beauteous blossom spread, 
Blent with the porphyry’s rich red, 

Imperial purple o’er the dead ? 


VIRGINIA'S FLOWER 


Ml 


O true and tried and faithful yet, 

The violet—the violet ! 

Let true men hate, as God abhors, 

The ruin and the wreck of wars, 

Nor shun to own that murder done 
With stately fleet and formal gun 
Is murder still, nor dare to hope, 

Since drops from Abel’s blood-red wound 
Cried to his maker from the ground, 

That larger crime hath larger scope,— 

That for a thousand Abels slain 
We shall not wear the brand of Cain ; 

And yet because when cannon roared 
About the Corsican, and sword 
Met sword for him, men understood 
Not as they understand it now 
The sacred tie of brotherhood, 

And true men did not disavow 
The monarch’s right, by arms made good, 
To wear unblamed upon his brow 
The crown won with his brother’s blood : — 
Because the kingdoms crushed him down, 
And hurled from him that iron crown, 
Because his heart beat out alone 
His sorrow’s mighty monotone, 


142 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


For this let men’s compassion fall, 

And let his chosen floweret cast 
Its purple o’er his sable pall, 

And blend its beauty with his past. 

O true, and tried, and faithful yet, 

The violet—the violet! —) 

The white swamp honeysuckle there 
Breathes its rich fragrance on the air; 
There, while the setting sun ray makes 
The waters crimson at its feet, 

The tan bay one by one lets fall 
Its ivory petals past recall; 

And there the wild magnolia breaks 
Its alabaster box replete 
With precious ointment, very sweet; 
While o’er each drooping bough, and o’er 
The jungle, marsh, and wooded shore, 
Above, beneath, without, within, 

Still climbs the yellow jessamine; 

And while the summer breezes stir 
The cypress and the juniper, 

Wafts softly to each forest king 
A rich and balmy offering 
Of odors such as rose and fell 
When Sheba gave to Israel 
Of spices such a goodly store, 


VIRGINIA'S FLOWER 


143 


As for abundance came no more; 

Or trailing o’er the waterside, 

Its branches casting far and wide 
Their yellow blossoms manifold, 

Pays to the Caesar of the tide 
The gleaming tribute of its gold ; 

And there the wild wisteria clings 
About the massive oaks, and swings 
With falling curves, and loops, and rings, 
Down where the matted grass appears; 
And dropping, dropping everywhere 
Its dewy, purple flowerets fair, 

It bathes the forest’s feet with tears 
And wipes them with its flowing hair. 


And can you ask, you who have toiled 
Up some steep hillside, rocky-soiled, 

And found your willing feet detained 
Amid the mountain ivy’s green, 

Where blooms of white, magenta-stained, 
Hide ’neath its dark-leaved, satin sheen ; 
Or grasped with eager hands the sorrel 
Whose creamy tassels on each breeze 
Fling invitations to the bees; 

Or shunned the bright, alluring laurel, 


144 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


The lamb-kill that the shepherd flees, 
Whose clustered crimson, *mong the rocks, 
Is death to browsing, milk-white flocks; 

Or where black spruces mid the gloom 
Receding, leave a sunny room, 

Have seen the pale Stuartias blow 
Like April drifts of Alpine snow ; 

Or listened while, or late or soon, 

Clad in its garb of rich maroon, 

The small wake-robins lightly stirred, 

Seem calling to the red-breast bird ; 

Or with a sudden joy have come 
Upon the painted trillium, 

Whose petals, each marked with a stain 
Wine-red, like some deep mark of pain, 

On an unsullied soul, may prove 
The type of faith and hope and love ; 

Or humbly knelt where, mid no dearth 

Of folding leaves and glossy green, 

_ » 

The lilies of the valley lean ;— 

White as no fuller on the earth 
Can whiten, emblem meet thou art, 

Pale floweret, of such purity 
As only God can cause to be, 

And blessed are the pure in heart;— 

Or where the thick-leaved alders hide 


VIRGINIA'S FLOWER 


M5 


The roughness of the mountainside, 

Have some bright lily-bell descried, 

In burnished colors that awaken 
Thoughts of the lilies wrought upon 
The pillars cast by Solomon, 

Whose names were called Boaz and Jachin ; 
Or plucked along the by-path, bright 
With soft September’s azure light, 

The lovely gentian’s fringed bloom, 

Which first unfolded to the sight, 

When nature, in capricious hour, 
Transformed a sapphire to a flower; 

Or seen amid the leafy gloom 
Of some thick-matted, ferny brake, 

The yellow fringed orchid loom, 

The master of the rattlesnake ; 

Or seen the roadside asters, white 
As hoar-frost in the morning light, 

Or richly purple in their hue, 

As those “ immortal amarants ” 

The angels pluck from heavenly plants 
And o’er the jasper pavement strew ; 

And can you ask, you who have trod 
I>ike Moses some lone mount of God, 

And seen upon its solemn height 
The fiery azalea’s light, 


146 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Upleaping, every leaf illumed 
While still the bush was not consumed, 
And seemed to hear God’s lips repeat, 

“ Take thou thy shoes from off thy feet! ” 
Or where the swift, wild torrent’s flow 
Onrushes through the mountain pass, 

Have felt unworthy to behold 
The wondrous velvet-petalled mass, 

Or lavender, or white and gold, 

(The heaped up treasure of the snow, 

And of the sunset’s golden glow, 

And of the purple clouds that rest 
Upon the misty mountain’s crest,) 

Whose roots spread to the waters, lo, 

A great and shining multitude 
Such as no man could number, dued 
With brightness, and with splendor hued ; 
The peerless, perfect flower that won 
Virginia’s nature-loving son 
To such deep loyalty that though 
He knew each beauteous bud and blow 
Of every land where flowers unfold, 

And e’en the blossoms of the sea, 

He said, in loving revery, 

“ I would be carried to the tomb 
When rhododendrons are in bloom.” 


VIRGINIA'S FLOWER 


14 7 


And can you ask ? Nay, can I choose ? 
Name one and all the rest refuse ? 

On him let this decision fall 

Who has not known and loved them all. 


% 





IV 


A Princess of Virginia 





A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 

A Dramatic Poem 


CHARACTERS 


John Smith 
John Rolfe 
Richard Pots 
Francis Midwinter 
Percy 

John Brooks 


Captain Newport 
Sir Thomas Dale 
Powhatan 
Kokoum 
Mistress Dale 
Pocahontas 


ACT I 

SCENE I.— December t 1604. Interior of Cabin in the 
Fort at Jamestown. John Rolfe Seated. Enter John 
Smith. 

Smith. Rolfe, you are caught again, arrested, tried, 
Convicted, sir, and sentenced. First you hide 
The wounded Indian stripling who was left 
In the long grass, because, in sooth, your deft, 

Quick tongue was apt for language, and the chance 
Too precious to be missed. Your next advance 
In subtlety was when you begged to make 
Two graves close to the fort, and place a stake 

15 1 


152 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Upon the head of each. Oh, not,indeed, 

Because your heart was touched; but to mislead 
The Indians, who would think, these mounds once seen, 
Our loss had been less heavy. Now between 
These wretched pallets you have kept strict ward 
The whole night long, a self-appointed guard, 

And willing nurse, lest these sick men should lack 
Herb teas and sassafras, and all the black, 

Weird stuff the wise men from the forest brew, 

And which the simple swallow. But renew 
T his folly when you will ! Perhaps you made 
A feint of being ill, and haply laid 
A fortnight on your bed for sweet repose, 

And indolent contentment; when you rose, 

Perhaps it was not that you wished to tend 
Those sicker than yourself; but here shall end 
My patience ! There the barley, meant to break 
Your morning fast, waits untouched, till those wake 
Whom you are spent with watching. 

Rolfe. Ah, their eyes 

Light up like some starved dog’s at the surprise 
Of an unlooked-for bone. They suffer more 
From weakness than from illness, and the poor 
Brave fellows have in truth more need than I, 

Who am not hungry. 


A PRINCESS OP' VIRGINIA 


153 


Smith. Rolfe, you shall not die 

As the fool dieth. My commands are said. 

Rolfe. And when has the commander eaten bread ? 

Smith. Pshaw ! I am seasoned to the ills that lurk 
In twenty climes; have feasted with the Turk, 

And starved with Tartars ; dared what might befall 
On Spanish soil, or Russian, meeting all 
As one who loves adventure. Rolfe, the sail 
Will not appear, e’en though no autumn gale 
Should hinder, till six troubled weeks or more 
Have been encountered ; while the slender store 
Of wheat and barley will in twenty days 
Be spent! 

Rolfe. We have our muskets yet. 

Smith. To raise 

Our hopes and bring us little. Though there be 
Fowls in the air, beasts in the wood, the sea 
Alive with fish, yet are their bounds so wide, 

Ourselves so weak, that we can scarce provide 
From them food for our number. Then be sure 
These Indians know our plight, the lack of pure 
Fresh water and the insufficient food, 

The frightful heat, the labor in the wood 


154 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Beyond our strength, the loss of sleep, repose, 

From constant watching \ but these outward foes 
Are nothing to the foes within—the strife 
Of Wingfield’s deposition ; then the life 
Of Radcliffe threatened by long illness; slow 
Decline of hope and courage, soon to grow 
To lawlessness and outbreak. You recall 
Columbus chained on shipboard ? Let them fall 
On me, poor starving wretches I might bind 
With one hand tied behind me ! But, Rolfe, mind 
That mutiny means ruin, root and branch, 

To the colony of Jamestown. 


Rolfe. It might blanch 

A cheek more bronzed than yours : a braver heart 
Or stronger arm have never played their part 
In a forlorn adventure. 

Smith, last night 

I sat here heavy, not with sleep; the bright 

Moon rose through shifting clouds, and touched the land 

And sea with fitful radiance; my hand 

Strayed to a book the preacher left beside 

The bed of Radcliffe. As the troubled hide 

Their sorrows from themselves, with idle thought 

Of what is nearest, so my eye now sought 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


155 


The open page; a darting moonbeam lay 
Upon this sentence : “ This day is a day ” — 

Now mark it—“ of good tidings ” ! And there fell 
A sudden awe upon me, like the spell 
That calmed Gennesaret, with “ Peace, be still ” ! 
“This day good tidings ”—Smith, I think no ill 
Will come to Jamestown. 

Smith. Ay, it well beseems 

The man of noble deeds to dream good dreams. 

But in this spot where castles in the air 
Are all our lodgings, I would gladly hear 
Of more substantial aids. 

Rolfe. I tell you, Smith, 

It was no dream, no vision, and no myth, 

Nor figment of the brain ; the ray of light 
That flashed that sudden line upon my sight 
Was pointed by an unseen finger. 

Smith. Rolfe, 

I do accept your omen. Half a loaf 
Is better than no bread, and in the dark 
Of such an hour one hope is better- 

Rolfe. 

The sound of footsteps 1 


Hark! 



156 THE FIRST FRUITS 

Smith. Ay, the stealthy tread 

Of skulking Indians. 

( Enter Pocahontas, followed by Indians carrying baskets 

of food.) 

Pocahontas. We have brought thee bread. 

Let not thy people hunger ! There is food 
In plenty in our panniers. 

Rolfe. May all good 

And holy angels guard you ! 

Smith (aside). Manna rained 

From heaven could not be more welcome ! 

Pocahontas . Pained 

Is now the maiden’s heart; she feels the grief 
Of these her paleface brothers. If relief 
Can come from her poor gifts, it will rejoice 
Her heart. 

Rolfe (aside). Who guessed the Indian tongue and 
voice 

Could be so friendly, and could seem so sweet ? 

Stay, maiden, go not yet; but let thy feet 
Rest from the journey. Let our thanks, delayed 
Until our men are fed, be rightly paid. 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


157 


SCENE JE —Near the Entrajice of the Fort. Pocahontas 
and John Rolfe Sitting on the Trunk of a Recently 
Felled Tree. 

1 

Pocahontas. You understand my speech ? 

Rolfe. I comprehend 

Most of the words you utter, though I bend 
An ear but newly taught. Some things I guess, 

Some I perceive because your eyes express 
More than your tongue. 

Pocahontas. The maiden does not know 

The language that the paleface uses. 

Rolfe. Slow 

And steady now ! I did employ your speech 
Commingled with my own. I do beseech 
Your patient effort. 

Pocahontas. What are those mounds? 

Rolfe. Graves 

Made in our time of hardship. 

Pocahontas. And those.staves 

Above them ? 

Rolfe. They are crosses, meant to keep 

The places where our fallen comrades sleep, 

In loved remembrance. 


153 

Pocahontas. 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


And what mean they, then ? 

Rolfe. The faith and hope in Christ who died for 
men. 

Pocahontas . The hope of what ? 

Rolfe. Oh, well, the preacher knows, 

And he will tell you. 

Pocahontas. 

The sweeter for those crosses ? 

Rolfe. 

Who ponder such things. 

Pocahontas. Let the maiden seem 

Not overbold, nor seem to ask too much 
Of knowledge from the stranger, but the touch 
Of those—those crosses—has it any gift 
To aid the dying? Anywise to lift 
The darkness that enwraps the spirit land ? 

Rolfe {aside). To me, a trifler ! 

Maiden, this right hand 

Toys oftener with the sword than with the page 
That holds the cross up; but it can assuage 
The pangs of death. I know my mother died, 

A smile upon her lips. 


Do the dead repose 


So they deem 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


159 


Pocahontas . Thou wilt not chide 

The maiden then ? Wilt listen while I speak 
Of my own mother ? Many moons her cheek 
Has slowly wasted, and she rises not 
From off her bed of pain. 

Rolfe. A weary lot 

Or in the hall, or in the wigwam. 

Pocahontas. Oft 

When I sit near she looks at me with soft, 

Sad eyes full of beseeching. “ It is strange 
The silence of the spirit land ; they range 
So noiselessly upon the unseen plain. 

They shout not when the flying deer is slain, 

Nor when the bird, swift wheeling through the sky, 
Meeteth the arrow. I have heard the cry 
Of wailing pines, and listened to the call 
Resounding through the far-off waterfall, 

And sometimes I have almost caught the tone 
Of the Great Spirit’s voice; but neither moan 
Nor anguished pleading made his deep voice clear, 
Nor made his distant thunders seem more near. 

I would not shrink, the Great Chief’s wife—ah, no! 
And yet it is a lonely way to go.” 

I wept, I mused ; how could my spirit grope 
For light in such thick darkness ? Then a hope 


i6o 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


New-born and sudden sprang into my heart. 

Deep in the forest lies a rock; no art 
Known to the red man carved upon the stone 
The wondrous image that is found thereon. 

For once upon that hallowed, silent place 

The one Great Spirit did descend ; the trace 

Left by His holy footstep lingers yet 

On the enduring rock. My hope was set 

Upon that sacred print. Each forest trail 

Or river path I followed ; when the pale 

First star of evening hailed the long day’s close 

I laid me down ; 1 woke; and then uprose 

The red sun, and his beams shone on the rock 

Stamped with the Great God’s footstep. “ Do not mock 

The longing of Thy people ”—the wild prayer 

Burst from my lips, and drawing my thick hair 

Across my face, I sank down. “ Come once more 

And shake the earth, and drown the waters’ roar 

With the thunders of Thy utterance ; for breath 

And spirit fail us, and our doom is death. 

Our life, is it a river, flowing free 

Towards some great water, some broad open sea ? 

Is it an arrow, darting with swift bound, 

To drop at last, its flight done, to the ground ? 

Fly we like birds to some bright land afar? 

Shine we anew like eve’s returning star ? 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


161 


Or like the sky’s red glow, the dusk drawn near, 

So do we fade away and disappear ? 

Move we towards sunrise, and the morning light, 

Or towards the sunset and the long, dark night ? 

Wilt Thou not answer now ? Oh, make an end 
Of the dull, unbroken silence ! What portend 
Thy cataracts, Thy waterfalls, Thy storms 
Loud crashing through the forests, since the forms 
Of speech Thy thunders take not; since reply 
They bring not to us, who unanswered die? ” 

'Thus pleaded I, my hands stretched towards the spot. 

Rolfe (aside). While I, reared up with church bells, 
heeded not! 

And heard you nothing ? 

Pocahontas . Nay, the Great God’s feet 

Jarred not the rock. Thrice did my lips repeat 
The invocation. 

Rolfe. And there came no sound ? 

Pocahontas. None, but the river’s. Prone upon the 
ground 

I sank and wept. The Great Chief would not know 
The weakness of his daughter’s heart. Then lo, 

A light wing brushed the rock ! A gentle dove 
Had fluttered downward, cooing notes of love. 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


162 

Rolfe. A dove? That means peace. 

Pocahontas. Do thy people say 

It meaneth so ? One moment did it stay, 

Then rose up, wheeling swiftly towards the south, 
Towards the great water and the river’s mouth. 

Rolfe. That was towards Jamestown. 

Pocahontas. Was the white bird sent, 

Think’st thou, to point me hither? Was it meant 
In answer to my calling ? Will the God 
Meet with me here ? Is there some stone or clod 
Marked with His foot-print? 

Rolfe. Long ago He came 

And dwelt among us, and His holy name 
Lives in remembrance. 

Pocahontas. Came? He came? You bring 
His message to the red man ? 

Rolfe. ’Tis a thing 

That other lips than mine might best repeat, 

And tell more worthily. 

(She throws herself o?i the ground before him.) 

Not at my feet ! 

Pocahontas. The dead, how speed they ? This has 
been the cry 

Of all our generations ; what reply ? 


ACT II 


SCENE I .—Mainland Not Far from Jamestown. Rolfe, 
Percy y Francis Midwinter, John Brookes, and Others , 
Underneath an Immense Weeping-willow. 

Midwinter. The high tide and the gale, both on one 
eve, 

Have firmly blocked our pathway. To retrieve 
Our steps to the peninsula, become 
A flooded isle, cannot be thought of; home 
Is not for us. 

Rolfe. This comes of felling trees 

With too much zeal. I warned you, if you please, 

That such excessive industry could bode 
No good to those concerned. 

Percy. Your private load 

Of guilt is light in that respect. You mused 
One hour upon the landscape; then refused 
To lift your axe against a certain hoar 
And ancient tree, because you thought that more 
Than twice five hundred summers might have passed 
Into its great majestic trunk and vast 
O’erhanging boughs; and e’en before the sun 
Stood overhead, you said your work was done, 

And that your hands were blistered. 

163 


164 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Rolfe. You record 

My day with great exactness, and afford 
Peace to my conscience. When my axe was stayed, 
Had you, my fellow woodmen, also laid 
Yours down, we would have gained the fortress ere 
The storm arose, or the high-tide did uprear 
Its raging wall. 

Joim Brookes. John Smith will think this came 
Of his brief absence. 

Rolfe. Of my being lame 

When he set out, and therefore left to share 
This imbecile adventure. 

‘Midwinter. We will fare 

Not badly here. The burning of that oak 
At noonday was most awkward, though. The smoke 
Rose from its huge bole till the leaping flame 
Seemed low beneath. 

Brookes. If harm results, the blame 

Is yours, John Rolfe. ’Twas you who first espied 
The creature that you called raccoon, and tried 
To burn it out. Though Percy’s tinder lit 
The final blaze, ’twas you yourself who hit 
Upon the stupid plan. 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


I 


Percy. Who could have guessed 

The dead wood was so dry ? And for the rest, 

Let but one lurking, spying Indian dare 
To prowl this way; my musket straight shall blare 
My welcome ! 

Rolfe. Wrong ! It is not well to rouse 

The sleeping mastiff. If an ox will browse 
In quiet, need you prick him till he turns 
In wrath to gore you ? And the man who spurns 
The Indian who would dwell at peace, may rue 
The rash injustice. 

Percy. True, John Rolfe, most true, 

And very wise; but then your blood runs cool 
As streamlets in December. I, the fool 
Of every impulse, I could no more brook 
From a red-skinned rascal one rude, skulking look, 
Than I could face the devil and not draw 
My weapon on him. 

Rolfe. Percy, law is law, 

And right is right, if in a London street 
Or in a wilderness. I do repeat 
Your rashness is a menace to the whole 
Of the colony at Jamestown. 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


166 

Brookes. Ay, control 

His choler, will you ! Such hot brands have need 
Of hasty quenching. Pray you now, proceed 
To pour cold water on him. 

Rolfe. I beseech 

His pardon, rather, if my hasty speech 
Has savored of reproof. 

Percy. I gladly bend 

My head before the chidings of the friend 
Who practises so prudently and well 
The caution that he preaches; for, to tell 
The simple truth, they say—they say, who know — 
That to repel the arrow of his foe, 

To ward off ill, and keep himself from harm, 

To serve him as an amulet, a charm, 

To bring sweet dreams, and otherwise to bless, 

Upon his heart he wears—a golden tress. 

Midwinter. A golden tress ! 

Brookes. John Rolfe ! 

Midwinter. A lock of hair ! 

Confess and cry for mercy ! 

Brookes. Hush ! Forbear ! 

Leave me the culprit. Rolfe, ’twas not well done 
To hide this secret from us. Now atone 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


1 6 7 


As may become a man. Confess your blame, 

And as a late amends—the lady’s name. 

Rolfe. Your pardon- 

Midwinter . Mind not, Rolfe, the love of gold 

Has prompted dreams ere now, and dear to hold 
A golden curl is nobler than to strive 
For golden coin. 

Percy. But gleaming locks may thrive 

Sometimes 'neath shining circlets, and ’tis said 
Who wears a tress clipped from the golden head 
Beloved by Master Rolfe need never lack 
For golden guineas. 

Midwinter . It should need no rack 

Nor thumbscrew, it bethinks me, to extort 
Confession of such favor. 

Percy. News is brought 

From overseas, and may be carried there, 

Were he not wary. There is raven hair 
As well as flaxen; and the stately name 
But once revealed, of this fair English dame, 

Some prattling tongue might whisper in her ear 
Some things that she would not be fain to hear, 

Nor he to have her hearken. 



THE FIRST FRUITS 


168 

Midwinter. Ah, the maid 

Called Pocahontas ! She whose bounty stayed 
Our hunger in the famine. 

Percy. We all know 

How often Master Rolfe was forced to go 
Unto the forest edge, awed not the least 
By lurking arrow, tomahawk, or beast, 

Or laughter of his fellows, just to teach 
This maid of the Pamunkeys softer speech 
Than her Algonquin language. 

Brookes. Ah, I love, 

Thou lovest, we love. Shall we not reprove 
This stern grammarian ? 

Percy. Yet he nearly thrashed 

The rector for refusing, unabashed, 

To do that errand for him. Does a man 
So love a rival, or is Powhatan- 

Rolfe. Percy, when that last Indian missed your 
locks, 

I think he snatched your brains. 

Midwinter. Hush ! On the rocks ! 

The Indian maiden ! 



A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


169 


Rolfe. 

What brings thee hither ? 


Pocahontas, child, 


Pocahontas. 


He has been beguiled, 


The Great Chief, by false tongues. His sudden wrath 

Pines to avenge his people. Fly ! He hath 

No mercy for the paleface. He hath seen 

The red light of your camp-fire, and between 

This moment and the midnight he will send 

His band to slay thee. 

Midwinter. Maiden, you commend 

Your friendship to us. 

Rolfe. See, your footsteps bleed ! 

You must have come long miles to-night. 

Pocahontas. My speed 

Is like the red man’s. I am fleet of foot. 

Rolfe. You are exhausted. Sit here on the root 
Of this great tree. 

Pocahontas. I have no need to rest. 

Rolfe. Stay, you are hungry; here is venison dressed 
Upon the hot coals. 

Pocahontas. I can take no food 

With those the Great Chief counts his foes, 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


I/O 

JRolfe. Your mood 

Is regal, noble princess. You bestow 
A boon, but will receive none. Must you go 
Alone, scarce thanked, with neither rest nor aid ? 

Pocahontas . The Great Chief’s child knows not to be 
afraid. 

SCENE II .—Pocahontas Before Her Father's Wigwam. 
Enter Powhatan and Kokoum. 

Pocahontas {aside'). The Great Chief’s brow is dark, 
and on his face 

There is a frown I like not. Has the chase 
Gone well to-day, my father? Has thy aim 
Abashed the young men ? Is our store of game 
Enriched with this brave hunt ? 

(He sits down without seeming to see her.) 

My father, see 

The moccasins my hand have made for thee 
From the soft, supple doe-skin. 

Kokoum (aside to Pocahontas). This white wing 
I cleft with my own shaft. So would I bring 
The stag, the bear, the buffalo that slakes 
His thirst beyond the farthest mountain lakes, 

Didst thou sit in my wigwam. That thy hair 
Might shine with feathers, what bird cleaves the air 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 171 

So high my arrow would not pierce its form ? 

To wrap thee round with fur-skins, soft and warm, 

What hungry wolf is there I would not track 
Unto his den ? What bear so grim and black 
I would not seize him by the open throat ? 

This tomahawk, this bow, I would devote 
Unto thy service- 

Powhatan . Pocahontas ! 

Pocahontas. Stay! 

My father calls me ! 

Powhatan. Put the bow away. 

Pocahontas (taking the bow from his hand'). 

Death to the red deer, 

Death to the doe, 

Fear to the prowling wolf, 

Flight to the foe, 

With the whiz of the arrow, 

The twang of the bow. 

A strong sure weapon; yet I would its skill 
Might have some gentler mission than to kill. 

Powhatan. A useless, unstrung thing. The bow is 
past, 

As is the red man. It must come at last! 



172 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Pocahontas. 


My father, what must come? 


Powhatan. 


The end of both, 


The red man and his weapons. Nothing loth, 

The stranger plants his foot upon our lands, 

Our hunting grounds, our harvests, and he stands 
Firmly as we upon these river shores. 

Already, heeding not their mighty roars, 

The voice of the Great Spirit, he begins 
To press us backward, and the paleface wins 
In the stern battle. Yea, I see it all; 

Smooth tongue, sleek promise, musket, powder, ball: 
For the red man, of all he once possessed, 

His burial mounds. 

Pocahontas. My father, in thy breast 

Some sudden change hath been most strangely wrought. 
What is it ? Hath the white man then not brought 
News that our people longed and feared to know 
About the one Great Spirit ? And when low 
They laid my mother in her burial mound, 

We placed no food or water on the ground 
Beside her for the journey lone and drear, 

Because we knew the white man’s God was near? 

They brought that news, my father, the white race; 
With such a message can the lips be base 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


173 


That spake it ? White their brows are; white the sails 
That brought them to our shores; and what avails 
Or sign or augury, if dark untruth 
From such as these can work us wrong or ruth ? 

jP owhatan. My child, thou speakest with thy mother’s 
voice, 

Sweet as the rippling streams when they rejoice 
In the thaws of spring-time ! So she bade me trust 
The bringers of such tidings. May her dust 
Remain untrampled by their alien feet! 

Come hither, Kokoum ; let thy lips repeat 
To this young maiden all the tale of wrong 
Our people suffer, and must suffer long. 

Kokoum {aside to Pocahontas'). It was a softer tale my 
lips were fain 

To whisper in thy ear. Wilt thou disdain 
To heed the warrior ? Wilt thou not bestow 
One lock of thy dark hair to string this bow, 

And bid me draw it for thy sake? 

Pocahontas . Well tried 

Thy bow is, true thy arrow, but I bide 
Still in my father’s wigwam. 

Kokoum. Thou wilt stay 

Still in the Great Chiefs wigwam ? 


174 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Pocahontas. Kokoum, yea ! 

Kokoum. Then hearken ! The despised Kokoum 
knows well 

Whose foot-print lay upon the snow that fell 
Along a secret and a silent path, 

The night the paleface fled the red man’s wrath ! 


SCENE III.— January, 1608. Forest in Front of Pow¬ 
hatan's Wigwam. Pocahontas in Foreground. Smith 
Surrounded by His Captors, in the Background. 

Pocahontas. I dare not look upon his face, and yet 
What is it that I fear? My eyes have met 
Wan captive looks ere now, and have not quailed 
Except for pity. Yet if Kokoum trailed 
This victim for another? Yea, he swore 
Never to draw the bow, nor ply the oar, 

Nor hunt the bear, nor chase the flying stag 
Till he should find, and seize and bind, and drag 
A captive at his heels, the man whose life 
I by my stealth had saved ; his vengeful knife 
Should gleam about the locks of him-—of him— 

Shame on Kokoum 1—him whom he said I loved. 

His face was grim ; his cruel glances roved 
Like some gaunt wolf’s ahungered for his prey. 

Then he strode forth, and ere the tenth long day 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


I 


Was ended, lo, this man, a captive bound. 

What if Kokoum believed, what time he ground 
His teeth and hissed his rage, it was this brave, 

This chieftain of the white man’s tribe, that gave 
The speed unto my feet, and made the snow 
Of long, dark miles an easy path ? I know 
I would have gone for all, and yet—and yet— 

What if Kokoum, with hate misplaced, is set 
Upon this captive’s death? Yea, what if through 
His cunning falsehood, Opecanchanough 
Avengeth on this victim who hath done 
No wrong to him, the seizure of his son ? 

They sent him hither that the Powhatan 
Might do the deed, might execute the plan 
Of bloody vengeance their own tomahawks 
Feared to perform, because the captive talks 
As might some wizard, and his hand did hold 
A strange, fantastic shape by which he told 
Of moon and star ; too like enchantment seemed 
His speech and knowledge, and his weapons gleamed 
With sudden lightning. 

Will the Great Chief lend 
His arm unto their cunning? Will he bend 
His courage to their baseness ? See, they place 
The food before him. ’Tis the final grace 
Before a captive’s death ! 


176 THE FIRST FRUITS 


Kokoum. 

Hath Kokoum kept 

His word ? 


Pocahontas. 

What word ? 


Kokoum. Hath Pocahontas slept 

So sweetly that she hath forgot who lies 
Bound underneath yon oak ? 


Pocaho?itas. 

Kokoum, my eyes 

Have looked upon thy captive. 


Kokoum. 

Wilt thou look 


To see his brains dashed out ? , 

Pocahontas. He will not brook— 

The Great Chief—this foul deed ? 

Kokoum. Yea, when he knows 

Whose life it was that through the midnight snows 


His daughter crept to save ! 


Pocahontas. 

Thou wilt not dare 

So to belie the truth ? 


Kokoum. 

Do thou beware 

• 

Of turning truth to lies. 

• 

Pocahontas. 

I love him not. 


Kokoum. Then will his death wound not thy love. 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


1 77 


Pocahontas. The plot 

Of cruel massacre I did reveal 
In mercy. 

Kokoum. Yea, did Pocahontas steal 

By night, and brave revenge, the torture, death, 

From her own race, yet she will pledge her faith 
She hath not loved ? 

Pocahontas. She hath not loved 

Thy captive. 

Kokoum. Then was Pocahontas moved 

By love for yet another ? 

Pocahontas. The sole word 

Of love that my young ears have ever heard 
Thy lips have spoken. 

Kokoum. And thy lips have scorned, 

Thy flashing eyes rejected ! I adorned 
Thy hair with feathers; thou didst pluck them out. 

I danced for thee, and have not heard the shout 
Of laughter ; brought the young crane from the brake 
To be upreared and tended for thy sake, 

And thou didst set it free. 

Pocahontas. Yea, bid me give 

Such freedom to this captive ! 


178 THE FIRST FRUITS 

Kokoum. Bid him live 

For whom my heart was slain? To let thy hand 
Go to the stranger, and his lips command 
Thee and thy father’s tribes? To let thee light 
His wigwam fires, pluck the wild swan, white 
Save where his arrow marked it with blood-red; 

Unstring his bow, and dress his venison; spread 
To dry the fish his net caught from the stream ? . 

Then let the snake live when- 

Pocaho?itas. Kokoum, you dream ! 

Kokoum. Then what pale devil from the sea upraised, 
Hath made Kokoum despised ? 

Pocahontas. I never gazed 

Ungently yet upon a living thing ! 

Kokoum. Name thou thy love, or else this club shall 
swing 

About this captive’s brains ! 

Pocahontas. Thou wilt not deal 

An undeserved death ! 

Kokoum. Thy love ! 


Pocaho?itas. 

Have pity—pity, Kokoum. 


I kneel ! 



A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


1 79 


Kokoum. Like the wild, 

Fierce puma’s when he crouches ! 

(Strides towards the captive .) 

Pocahontas. Tricked, beguiled, 

By his own fancy. Yet shall this man die, 

And I be guiltless who might save him—I, 

* 

By speaking but one word, a breath, a name ? 

A name ? What name ? The name of one who came 

Into my life in answer to my call 

Unto the One Great Spirit. Who brought all 

The strange new light that shines upon my path? 

I to betray him unto Kokoum’s wrath ? 

Let me die, rather I Look, their bludgeons ! 

(Rushes forzvard .) 

Slay 

Thy child, but not the stranger ! 

Powhatan. Peace, give way ! 

Pocahontas. Me, not the paleface, O my father ! 

Powhata?i. Beat 

His coward brains out ! 

{Pocahontas rushes to Smith and throws herself upon 

his prostrate form .) 


Powhatan .. 


Lift him to his feet. 


ACT III 

SCENE I. — Within the Fort. John Smith and Rolfe. 

Rolfe. Smith, 1 would have a word with you. The 
breeze 

Is fresh to-night; here underneath these trees 
Let us sit down a moment. 

Smith. You received 

A letter by the ship last week that grieved 
Or troubled you. 

Rolfe. You guessed it? 

Smith. I have learned 

To use my eyes, and therefore I discerned 
That you eat nothing, that your face is pale, 

Your glance abstracted. 

Rolfe. Smith, the simple tale- 

Smith. Is a love tale, of course. 

Rolfe. Perhaps ; and yet- 

Smith. Why, when a good ship is about to set 
Sail for a rough new world, and at the last 
There dashes up a horseman, riding fast 

j8o 




A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


181 


With whip and spur, who makes a flying leap 
Straight for the gang-plank, all unbooked, a sheep 
Astray within the vessel’s fold, and prays 
For passage, but his name and state betrays 
To no man till he meets one, Smith, on deck, 

The ship well under way, who makes a wreck 
Of all his secrecy by blurting out, 

“ Master John Rolfe ” ; when wheeling round about 
The youth pleads, “ Write to England naught of me 
If you would show me friendship ”—what may be 
The cause of all this secrecy and haste, 

Seeing his name is fair, his honor placed 

Above suspicion, if he has not fled 

From mischanced love? As Master Shakespeare said, 

It needs no ghost to tell us this. 

Rolfe. • If it 

May rightly be called love, entranced to sit 
Low at the feet of one whose eye enthralls, 

Whose beauty dazzles, and whose soft voice calls 
Mute rapture from the heart, while we mistrust 
The soul beneath, suspect the hidden dust 
Within the golden fruit. 

Smith. • If this indeed 

May be called love. 


182 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Rolfe. She did the cruel deed 

With sovereign grace, as such fair women can; 

She fed my hopes, allured me, tried to fan 
The leaping flame, then calmly gave the lie 
To all her words and acts had meant; threw by 
My wealth of love, because another’s gold 
And titles could outweigh it. You have told 
The rest yourself. 

Smith. And now the sequel ? 

Rolfe. There 

Has come this letter. She would bid me wear 
Once more her livery ; has guessed the place 
Of my retreat; would see me face to face. 

But to what end I know not. 

Smith. You will brave 

The danger ? 

Rolfe. Smith, the rude, wild forest gave 

Strength to my heart; something I slowly found 
Of peace and healing on this untried ground, 

Fresh and unsullied from the Maker’s hand ; 

But since this sudden summons, if I stand 
Heart-whole or still enslaved, I scarcely know. 

1 only hear her voice say “ Come 1 ” I go ! 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 183 

Smith. As wiser men ere now have rushed to meet 
Their own destruction. 

Rolfe. It is right and meet 

A friend should give such warning; be my deed 
Upon my head ! 

Smith. Amen ! A warm God-speed 

And no more counsel. So you mean to sail 
With Newport ? 

Rolfe. Yes, farewell to Jamestown. Hail 

To good old England ! 

Smith. And what of adieu 

Unto the maiden Pocahontas? 

Rolfe. True, 

I had almost forgotten. She will grieve 
Somewhat to part with me. She seems to cleave 
Unto the English. She is very apt 
In learning, and she thirsts for knowledge. 

Smith (aside). Wrapt 

In self-absorbed oblivion; such a soul, 

Half chivalry, half lightness, makes more dole 


184 THE FIRST FRUITS 

For woman than ten falser natures could 
With wilful striving. 

Rolfe. Her Algonquin blood 

Is royal, and her heart and mind partake 
Of something not all savage. 

Smith. She would make 

The proudest dame in England seem untamed 
Beside her gentleness. 

Rolfe . You have not named 

The women of the Orient. You own 
Allegiance still to Trabigzanda? 

Smith. None 

Shall hear my lips renounce it; but two stars 
May shine in one small pool, and neither mars 
The glory of the other ; so Lhold 
In equal love my two preservers. 

Rolfe. Gold 

Should symbolize your heart, not water. Do 
Not deal in figures. 

Smith. Rolfe, a word with you. 

No love can live, I think, that does not rest 
On confidence. Do you apply that test ! 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


I8 5 


SCENE II.— Early October , 1608 . Weroeocomoco. Be¬ 
fore the Door of Powhatan's Wigwam. Smithy Rolfe y 
Newporty Percy , Others . Powhatan and Indians 

in the Distance . 

Percy. This mummery will make the fitting end 
To all that went before. We needs must send 
A nugget of pure gold, which haply might, 

Be straying round our cornfields ; next alight 
On White’s lost colony, which we with ease 
Might find in leisure moments; then appease 
The just impatience of the company, 

By straightway finding out an inland sea 
That leads to India; but this caps it all. 

We must go seek within his kingly hall, 

This mighty monarch, this vast potentate, 

This ruler of proud realms, whose vast estate 
Is glorious with jewels, and ablaze 
With rich barbaric splendors that amaze 
The dazzled eye, and crown him by his leave 
The Emperor of the West. 

First Colonist. Will he receive 

This kindly, think you ? 

Percy. If he haps to like 

The shining crown, or if the robe shall strike 
His most majestic fancy. 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


186 

Rolfe. Spare your wit! 

How oft do coronets more splendid sit 
Or heads less kingly? Yea, how oft the crown 
Of tinsel is mistook for gold ! The clown 
Struts in a diadem, and the true king 
Oft wears a crown that proves a tarnished thing 
And ill beseeming. What is majesty ? 

The kingliest head before death’s pomp must be 
A vassal bowed; the lowliest by the spark 
Immortal in it death can quench not, mark, 

Is raised to dignity. We live, we move, 

And have our being; we rejoice, we love, 

We suffer, and we die; and if we call 
This humbleness or grandeur, not at all 
It matters or can matter, since one lot 
Awaits us in the hall or in the cot, 

The palace or the wilderness, the while 
God’s angels pity what we scorn, and smile 
At that which we hold royal. 

First Colonist. You have prosed 

Too much to the young savage. 

Percy. And disclosed 

Your wisdom to delay a task. Proceed ! 

Rolfe. Now, Smith, your boasted courage ! Do tl 
deed ! 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 187 

Smith. You do him wrong. Most noble is his mien. 
Such majesty till now I have not seen. 

{Advancing with the crown in his hand.') 
Most noble Chief, Great Powhatan, we bring 
The greeting of our James ! He crowns thee King ! 

Powhatan. What is a King ? 

Smith. Why, one who rules, who stands 

As father to his people; who commands. 

Powhatan. Why, then, I am a King. I rule my 
people. Tell 

Your Great Chief that his brother Chief full well 
Returns his love and greeting, but he scorns 
His proffered crown. 

Smith (bringing forward a robe). This crimson robe 
adorns 
A royal form. 

Poiuhatan. Fit for a squaw ! 

Neiuport (lifting a mantle). We bear 

This purple mantle from our James. 

Powhatan. Who wear 

Such garments in your country? 


188 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Smith. 

To royalty ! 


They pertain 


Powhatan. 


The Powhatan will deign 


To take them from his brother. In return 
He sends this cloak of raccoon skins. (To his men I) Go 
burn 

A pile triumphant. Bid the maidens dance 
Their dance of joy. 

Smith. The Great Chief does enhance 

Our satisfaction. 

{All are seated on the ground. A bonfire is lighted. 
Pocahojitas and her maidens e?iter and dance i?i the 
circle around the fire. At the close of the da?ice 
Pocahontas and her maidens dance up to Newport, 
singing, Pocahontas leading .) 

Chorus of Afaidens. “ Dost thou, dost thou not 
Love me? ” 


Newport. 


What say they ? 
’Tis part of the plot — 


Smith. 


Part of the song. 


(All dance up to Rolfe. Pocahontas suddenly wheels 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


189 


Maidens. “ Dost thou not love me ? ” 

Newport (aside to Pocahontas ). Stay ! 

You question thus the man whose head is gray, 

But not this gallant gentleman whose youth 
Beams in his eyes. 

Pocahontas. The song is done, in sooth ; 

I will sit down and rest. 

Rolfe. Here on the sward, 

If I may sit beside you. ’Tis reward 
Enough for that last slight you gave. I go 
Next week to England, Princess, sailing slow 
On the good ship with Master Newport. 

Pocahontas . Thou 

Art going to thy own land ? 

Rolfe. Thy brow 

Turns from me, Princess, and my time is brief. 

Ere I return, some warrior, some Chief 
That is to be, will win thy favor; then- 

Pocahontas. Thou wilt return ? 

Rolfe. Why, yes; perhaps so. 

Pocahontas. When ? 

When wilt thou come again ? 



190 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Rolfe. When that is done 

For which I go to England. 

Pocahontas. Is there none 

Can do this errand for thee ? 

Rolfe. None, sweet maid ; 

I must perform my own behest. 

Pocahontas. Upbraid 

Me not, but wilt thou—wilt thou not forget 
The forests of the red man ? 

Rolfe. I will let 

No landscape in my own green isle erase 
The picture of these wooded shores ; no face 
Blot out my thought of thine. 

Pocahontas. Thou wilt recall 

The name of Pocahontas ? 

Rolfe. Maid, if all 

My grateful thoughts were wafted on the breeze, 
Then would you hear sweet music when the trees 
Are swaying round your pathway. 


Pocahontas. 
Qf~of a face ? 


Thou didst speak 



A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 191 

Rolfe. Yea, and if any cheek 

Glows brighter for my coming; at the end 
Of my long journey, should one gracious friend 
List to my strange adventures,—at her feet, 

In glowing accents, shall my lips repeat 
The story of the Indian maid whose brave 
And timely succor more than once did save 
My liberty and life. 

Pocahofitas. Wilt thou not teach 

The maiden one last word of thy strange speech, 

Before thou goest hence ? 

Rolfe. What word is dear 

Enough to be the last for such an ear, 

Most noble Princess ? 

Pocahontas. Let the maiden choose 

Those words that thou hast said thy people use 
When they for one another lift the heart 
Unto the One Great Spirit. 

Rolfe. When we part 

We say “ Good-by,” and that they say means, “God 
Be with you.” 


Pocahontas. Not those words. 


192 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Rolfe. 


’Tis very odd, 


I cannot find some apter phrase. Why, yes — 
How would you like, “ God bless you ” ? 


Pocahontas. 
What meaneth it ? 


That word “ bless." 


Rolfe. 


Why, to make happy, keep 


From wrong and evil; generously to heap 
With all that makes for true and pure delight. 

Pocahontas. The maiden’s lips would wish to learn 
aright 
Those words. 

Rolfe. God bless- 

Smith. The boat and river wait 

To bear us hence. ( Aside .) A very precious freight 
Of raccoon skins, shell beads, and English fools, 

Instead of Indian corn. 

Rolfe {aside). Which doubtless cools 

Poor Newport’s ardor. Gentle Princess, I 
Must bid you now farewell. 

Pocahontas . Farewell. 

Rolfe. Good-by. 



ACT IV 


SCENE I.— 1612 . biterior of Sir Thomas Dale's House 
at famestow?i. Mistress Dale t Sister of Sir Thomas 
Dale ; Waiting-women, and Pocahontas , a prisoner. 

First Waitifig-woman. This is her sewing, madam. 
Please observe 

The sleeve is upside down. It would not serve 
To scare away the thieves, though truly fit 
For nothing else. 

Secofid Waiting-woman. This is the sock she knit! 

So rude, misshapen, ’t would not serve, I trow, 

As bandage for a broken-legged crow. 

Third Waiting-woman. This, may it please you, 

4 

madam, is the wool 

She tried to card and spin—uneven, full 
Of knots and snarls. The matted, tangled stuff 
Would for a hedgehog’s blanket be too rough. 

First Waiting-woman. This is her sampler, madam. 
May the saints 

Preserve us from such Indian antics, feints 
At Christian work. 

Mistress Dale. Strange you are dull about 

The sewing and the spinning, looking out 

193 


194 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Of the window ever ! Do you think the sky 
Will roll away because your eager eye 
Turns from it for one moment? I would choose 
To teach a wild deer household thrift and use 
Rather than you. 

Pocahojitas. Ay, for the wild deer’s blood 

Seems in my veins. I cannot bend my mood 
Sooner than he to match with wall and roof. 

The joyous freedom of his bounding hoof 
Beats in my pulses; yet I do discern 
Your goodness and your patience, and would learn 
What thou art fain to teach. 

Mistress Dale. Yet who so quick 

To learn her letters, and to catch the trick 
Of spelling, and to write in line most fair 
The creed and to remember the Lord’s Prayer ? 

You are most clever, child, for all your kin 
To wild-wood creatures. 

(.Enter Sir Thomas Dale and John Rolfe.') 

Sir Thomas Dale. Good news ! Let us in ! 

The boat waits in the river, and we go 
Perhaps to-morrow morning, on our slow 
But certain voyage. A prisoner no more 
This maid will be, when we have reached the shore 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


195 


Before her father’s wigwam; and the cost 
To Powhatan shall be the arms we lost 
And our men that he took captive. 

Rolfe. You have heard 

The glad decision. Have you not a word 
Of joy, my gentle captive ? 

Pocaho?itas. I obey 

Sir Thomas Dale in all things. 

First Waituig-woman {aside). Not astray 

Her glances wander when she hears the voice 
Of Master Rolfe. 

Sir Thomas Dale. Oh, she will not rejoice 

Too loudly in our presence. She would spare 
Our feelings somewhat, who have found the care 
Of her so sweet a burden. But her glance 
Will brighten when some youthful werowance 
Of her own people, bids her welcome. 

Rolfe. Then, 

Indeed, she will forget us slighter men. 

Pocahontas {aside). Good Master Rolfe, when for my 
mother dead 

I wept, thy hand was laid upon my head; 


196 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


And when I strove to learn, slow, one by one, 

New words, thy voice said, “ Little maid, strive on: 
How else does good come? ” Let the unfledged bird, 
Dropped from the nest, when its cry has been heard, 
Forget who stooped and raised it from the dust; 

But still the daughter of the Great Chief must 
Know who hath blest her childhood. 

Rolfe. Thou art good 

Beyond the excellence of womanhood, 

And truly noble. 

Mistress Dale. Master Rolfe, you sail, 

I hope, with us ? 

Rolfe. Yea ; farewell, Mistress Dale. 


SCENE II .—River Shore ?iear Jamestown. Rolfe Walk¬ 
ing Alone. 

Rolfe. My little day of happiness, how bright! 

How dark my night of grief ! Oh, my delight 
In that on which my heart was fain to lean ! 

The thronging, strange events that come between 
My former self and me ! The welcome home; 

Our wedding day; her eager wish to come 
To this new and more hopeful world ; the sail 
Upon the doomed Sea-Venture, and the gale 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


19 7 


That wrecked us and most violently crossed 
The purpose of our voyage ; the green isle lost 
Like some rare weed afloat upon the deep ; 

The date-palm and the cocoanuts, to keep 
Want from us; then our slowly builded ark 
Of safety, trim and ready to embark; 

At last the glad sight of the capes ; the glide 
Swan-like into the river. And my bride — 

What of her ? O my memory, speak low 
And tenderly of that sad time of woe; 

Breathe on my heart like faint, sweet odors shed 
From some worn page where lies a rose long dead. 
Pale she had grown, and slowly day by day 
Her eyes grew languid; and she turned away 
How wearily, from all my lips essayed 
To speak of cheer or comfort; then she laid, 

Wan as a stricken flower, upon her bed, 

And wandered in delirium. The thread 
Of her poor, broken words I caught at last, 

And wept beside her. When her weakness passed, 
She oped her eyes, and saw, and understood. 

She placed her arms about my neck, the mood 
Of tenderness the first that she had shown 
In all our life together, and made known 
The cruel truth to me. He for whose sake 
She had once spurned me, had been swift to break 


198 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


His troth with her ; and, maddened with the pain 
Of beauty slighted, love thrown back again 
Upon itself, and that most cruel smart 
Of pride stabbed to the quick, she played the part 
Which brought me to her side, and placed her hand 
In mine. This was the vengeance she had planned 
Against her lover; and thus she had hurled 
Defiance to him. Towards the fair, new world 
That held for her no memories, no hurt 
Of wounded love, her face had turned alert 
And eager; but her wrung soul had recoiled 
At last from her own deed; her heart, despoiled 
Of what it prized, had no more strength to meet 
The days to come; no joy with which to greet 
The future years ; and, pining to be free, 

Asked pardon of its God, itself, and me. 

Her soul was shrived ; yet from the buried past 

Her lover’s face still rose; now at her last 

And direst craving, would I not record 

A pledge to give to him one farewell word 

From those her dying lips? I gave the vow 

She asked, and I can scarce remember how 

The weeks passed afterward. I think I tried 

To give her comfort, and I know she died 

Her hand in mine. Oh, that time when the dreams 

Of our glad youth roll from us, and there seems 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


199 


A horror of great darkness closing round 
About us and before us, deep, profound, 

Like that which fell on Abram while he slept 

Of old on Manure's plain. Ay, men have kept 

Such trysts with God since then, and heard Him speak 

From out the blackness; seen the flaming streak 

Made by His burning lamp ! The daily task 

That came to me, I wrought. I did not ask 

Or life or death, but only strength to bear 

The thing I must; to do my patient share 

Of daily work, e’en though my heart could know 

No joy in that for which it toiled ; to go 

Straight forward, though the path led to no goal 

Of my desire ; in short, to bend my whole 

Heart, mind, and will to do what seemed the right, 

Though no reward stood forth within my sight. 

This is, I hold, the brave man’s part; no less 
Can be demanded of true nobleness. 


One day I stood alone upon the verge 
Of the great river where the waters urge 
Their way into the sea; a live oak stretched 
Its branches o’er me, and its dark leaves etched 
Their shadow on a rock. A sudden thought 
Came to me of the Indian maid who sought 


200 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Beside a rock to meet with God. I smiled 
At this wild fancy of the Indian child ; 

And musing on her thirst for streams that I 
Had cared not for, or passed unheeding by, 
Sick with life’s emptiness, and lone and faint, 

I sank upon the ground, and made complaint 
To Him the maiden had invoked. I strove, 
Led by her uninstructed faith, to move 
My faith that had been tutored. When I rose 
I knew the great All-Father did not mock 
Man’s cry : He had met with me on the rock. 


SCENE III.— Jamestown. Rolfe and Richard Pots. 

Pots. Report says that the expedition failed. 

Can this be true ? 


Rolfe. How buoyantly we sailed, 

And with what hope, you know. The Indian maid, 
Bright, eager-eyed, sat on the deck, arrayed 
In all her bravest, and her feet did bound 
Like some young fawn’s when first the barge swung round 
At Weroeocomoco. While the men 
Were landing, all her gaze was shoreward ; then 
She turned her eyes on me. I could not read 
The meaning of her look ; it seemed to plead 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


20 


For something, though I knew not what. Then came 
Back to the barge, with heads bent down for shame, 
We of the bootless embassy, and turned 
Our faces from her. Powhatan had spurned 
To barter for his child the weapons seized 
By his men from the strangers. He was pleased, 

He said, to see us, but his stern and flat 
Refusal left no room for parley. That 
Is the brief story of our errand. 

Pots. How 

Did Pocahontas meet it ? 

Rolfe. Her dark brow 

Paled for a moment; then the sudden storm 
Of arrows burst upon us, and her form 
Swayed like the willow. When our muskets pealed 
Their quick retort, she sank, her face concealed 
By both her trembling hands. 

Pots. So in the place 

Of peace immediate and sure, we have 
Hostility continued. 

Rolfe. We must brave 

E’en that condition. Smith knew how to deal 
With these bloodthirsty savages. I feel 
The loss of such a man in times as stern 
As these are proving. Daily I discern 


202 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Some need his presence here would have supplied, 

And miss the prudent foresight he denied 
To naught pertaining to the general good. 

Pots. What shall I say? His worth you understood, 
Who in all things made justice his first guide, 

Experience his second ; hating pride, 

Sloth, baseness, and indignity far more 
Than any danger; who from out our store 
Allowed himself no more than that he gave 
Unto his men ; who sent them forth to brave 
No perils unto which he would not lead 
The way himself; who would not see us need 
Aught that he could by any means obtain; 

Who would far rather want than borrow, fain 
To starve far rather than not pay; who loved 
Words less than actions, and whose soul was moved 
By the abhorrence of all falsehood ; whose 
Adventures were our lives, and whom to lose 
Has been our deaths. 

Rolfe. A noble tribute paid 

To one who well deserves it. Would his aid 
Were with us 1 These red demons do not fear 
Dale or his men. Our weaknesses appear 
Most clearly to them, and they hope to wear 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


203 


Our strength out by these sharp attacks they make 
Upon us; and by managing to take 
In each affray, and turning to our harm, 

Our muskets and our ammunition. Arm 
But sixty of these Indians as our pale, 

Discouraged men are armed, and what avail 
Our further faint resistances ? 

Pots. Not much 

At best, if we must still rely on such 
Manoeuvres as our men, heart-sick and weak, 

Can make; but you need not go far to seek 
A less unsure defense. 

Rolfe. What mean you ? Can 

This wilderness bring succor ? May a man 
Ask rescue of the panther or the bear ? 

Pots. He may look in a maiden’s eyes, and there 
Read peace and safety. 

Rolfe. In a maiden’s eyes ? 

Pots. Have you explored new worlds, but not what 
lies 

Within a young girl’s glance? Think you the Chief 
Would prosecute this war if his belief 
In our good faith and friendly purpose stood 
On an alliance ’twixt one of his blood 


204 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


And ours ? Would his enmity abide 
Were his own daughter to become the bride 
Of a true-hearted Englishman ? 

Rolfe. You speak 

Strange language still. What honest man would seek 
The hand of one who loves him not, to buy 
Peace for his countrymen ? What man so high 
Among us that he would be worthy more 
Than to stoop down and kiss her foot-prints ? 

Pots. Your 

Objections argue for my cause. I pray 
Your pardon ; but time presses, and delay 
You know is dangerous. This captive child 
Of Powhatan, this princess of the wild, 

Impenetrable forest, is no less 

And no more than a woman. Do you guess 

The sequence? Know, then, that her woman’s heart 

Is yours. 

Rolfe. Mine? 

Pots. Yours alone. You seem to start 

As if the thought were new to you. 

Rolfe. The art 

To hide her unsought love in woman lives 
E’en with her power to feel. This nature gives 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


205 


E’en as she veils the rosebud’s red with green, 

And wraps the violet, its form unseen, 

Beneath its own broad leaves. Yet I would scorn 
My own presumption if my hopes had gone 
So far, or soared so high, as to the thing 
You name. 

Pots. Then give your hope a lighter wing 

To-day. The thing we hope we do not dread. 

Go win your dark Algonquin bride. The tread 
Of her benignant feet will bring all grace 
To you, and peace to this oft-threatened place. 


SCENE IV.— Interior of the Church at Jamestown. Poca¬ 
hontas Dressing the Altar and Chancel Rail with 
Flowers. Enter John Rolfe. 

Rolfe. These dogwood blossoms make the chancel 
seem 

A snow-white bower of beauty. I could deem 

The church a wood, and you the flower-crowned sprite 

Whose touch evoked the spring. 

Pocahontas. ’Tis my delight 

To make the forest’s rich profusion bloom 
Beneath this holy roof. 


206 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Rolfe. The twilight gloom 

Of these dark walls is by your presence changed 
To sunlit warmth. These frost-like blossoms ranged 
About the altar lend but one more ray 
Where all was bright before. 

Pocahontas. What do you say 

When you denote this flower ? 

Rolfe. It is named 

The dogwood. 

Pocahontas. Then your lips have much defamed 
A beauteous thing in nature. Let us choose 
Some better title for it. 

Rolfe. It will lose 

Naught of its charm, rare maid, if you bestow 
An appellation on it. What sweet flow 
Of sounds will meet your pleasure ? Shall we sit 
In this tall pew, while you select a fit 
And apt word, full of meaning ? 

Pocahontas. How like these 

Profuse pale blossoms lie upon the trees 
The thickly sprinkled snowflakes. Shall we then 
Call this the snow-storm flower? Yet again, 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 20J 

Doth not each white and pointed surface gleam 
Most like a silver star, when not a beam 
Shines from the hidden moon ? 

Rolfe. Then might not we 

Speak rightfully of the star-shower tree ? 

Pocaho?itas. Stay yet awhile; each pure and dazzling 
leaf 

Has on its tip what seems a blight; a grief 
Felt by an unpolluted hear-t; a stain. 

Unmerited, on honor. 

Rolfe. Nay, disdain 

Shown to a faithful love; the soul of truth 
Stung with another's falsehood. 

Pocahontas . Yea, in sooth, 

These are true thoughts ; but see how firm and pure 
The white beside the sere ! Brave souls endure 
Their sorrows so. This flower’s name shall be 
Henceforth, then, courage in adversity. 

Rolfe. You have endowered with a final grace 
These pearly-tinted blooms. Princess, your face 
Is sad sometimes of late. 

Pocahontas . t sometimes think 

Upon unjoyful things. 


208 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Rolfe. No unseen link 

Would bind your gentle heart to any woe, 

Could I but sever it. May I not know 
What care has troubled you ? 

Pocahontas. It is not well, 

So to divide a grief. 

Rolfe. I pray you tell 

Your sorrows undivided, unto me. 

Perhaps you mourn because you are not free 
To leave Jamestown, and us? 

Pocahontas. The lip athirst 

Pines not to leave the cooling streams that burst 
From out the dripping stone. 

Rolfe. You grieve because 

The Powhatan, grown wroth with us, withdraws 

* 

Protection from his daughter ? 

Pocahontas. Not more clear 

The lake-hid rock at noon-day doth appear, 

Than underneath the Great Chief’s action shows 
The love he bears his daughter. He well knows 
That I am safe. It were not nobly done 
To buy my freedom with the trophies won 
By his brave warriors*in the fight; but this 
Weighs on my spirit : that his age must miss 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


209 


His daughter’s tendance; that his tired ear 
Must lose the song, and lack the simple cheer, 

Her young voice might have given. Oh, my heart 
How was it wrung when I turned to depart 
Unto the land of the Potomacs, where 
Your people found me. 

Rolfe. 

Pocahontas. 

Rolfe. 

Your heart to me. 

Pocahontas. Kokoum came oft to seek 

My hand, and with his smooth tongue to beguile 
Me of my love. His bland and ready smile 
Shone for the Great Chief’s stories, and his skill 
Carved out the Great Chief’s bow; his strength, and will 
Were bent to do the Great Chief’s service. More, 

• Oj 

With cunning, poisonous words, he kept before 
The Powhatan’s vexed mind each tale devised 
Against the paleface. Thus the Chief despised 
The stranger daily more, while his love grew 
Towards Kokoum, since one common hate possessed 
The hearts of both. At last when Kokoum pressed 
Upon the willing Chief his urgent claim 
To me, his daughter, laying all the blame 


What fate drove you there ? 

I must not tell it. 
Gentle maiden, speak 


210 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Of my refusal to my love for one 
Among the white man’s tribe, his cause was won. 
The mighty warrior fixed his stern, dark glance 
On me, and promised the shrewd werowance 
That when he left our wigw&m, his young bride, 

Her hand in his, should go forth at his side. 

When next the dawn’s red streak shone through 
gray, 

I and my maidens had sped far away 
From Werowocomoco. In the land 
Of the Potomacs, I sought refuge. Grand 
And noble is the great Algonquin soul 
Of my great sire. He would bring no dole 
Upon his well loved daughter; but Kokoum, 

The flatterer, the false in speech, had come 
Between him and his child. At last I heard 
That he no longer trusted in the word, 

Or listened to the counsels, of the man 
From whom I fled, and, oh, my joyous plan 
Of swift return ! Oh, how my spirit ran 
In eagerness and haste to make return 
Unto my father’s roof 1 My heart did yearn 
To tell him with my lips that, as he slept, 

I had knelt at his feet before I crept 

Forth from his door. Then up the stream did ride 

The ship of Argali. When it turned to glide 


the 







A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


211 


Seaward once more, lured by old Ipazaws, 

I sailed with it; now lo, these cruel wars 
That tear my heart in twain I I cannot go 
Unto my aged sire; blood must flow 
To prove the races equal, and to teach 
The brotherhood between them unto each, 

The death-wound of the paleface gaping red, 

The red man growing pale in death. 

Rolfe. You dread 

This strife, then, princess ? 

Pocahofitas. I behold my sire 

Slain with the lightnings and the hidden fire, 

Of these, your English weapons ; see the hearts 
Of your brave warriors riven with the darts 
Of my own people. 

Rolfe. What if by some deed 

Of noble import, your own hand might lead 
These races into peace. 

Pocahontas. Oh, let me know 

The way and I will take it. Shall I go 
And span the chasm ’twixt the peaks that stand 
Twin sisters, in the far-off mountain land? 

Or leap the precipice that hurls the foam 
Of its wild torrent from the heights where roam 


212 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


The tribe of the Niagaras ? What may 

This just, true cause demand, that I would stay, 

Or tremble to perform ? 

Rolfe. The red man strews 

Upon the river when the tempest brews, 

His precious gift of richly-golden leaves, 

A sacrifice that will, as he believes, 

Appease the gods, who in return will send 
Calm weather. Noble Princess, 1 commend 
This custom to you : cast upon the stream, 

Vexed and disturbed, an offering supreme — 

Yourself I Look on me, and let your true hand 
Lie here in mine. Do you not understand 
That while this clasp unites us two, no dart 
Could pierce your form that would not cleave my hear 
Nor any sudden weapon lay me low, 

That would not fell you with its deadly blow ? 

Think you the Great Chief would not end the strife 
If your sweet life were bound up with my life ? 

To-day unto the flower of your choice 
You gave a new name, riching with your voice 
The rare endowment. Oh, bestow the same 
Dear boon on me ! Bless me with a new name — 

One that my heart, now waiting, may approve 
And answer to. Dear maid, call me thy love. 


ACT V 


SCENE I .—New E?igland. John Smith and an English 
Gentleman. 

Smith . What news is there from London and the 
Court, 

And how thrives Pocahontas ? 


Gentleman. Why, report 

Is busy with her triumphs, and her wealth 
Of beauty, charm, and grace. Crowds go by stealth, 
Or openly, by eagerness made bold, 

To see her as she passes, and behold 
Her wild-flower loveliness. The gracious Queen 
Smiles much, ’tis said, upon her, and is seen 
In public oft beside her; maidens wear 
Strange ornaments, because her dusky hair 
Has been adorned with such; and young men use 
For buckles golden bows with arrows. Hues 
Most brilliant are the fashion now, because 
Her people love them; every tyro draws 
Her likeness, and our artist, he whose fame 

Has filled the court and country, all aflame 

213 


214 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


With wonder at her sweet, dark face, has made 
A picture of her that has so portrayed 
Her nobleness that it, ’tis said, will live 
On future walls, perpetually, to give 
Remembrance of her features. These things might 
Full well elate her heart, and place the blight 
Of pride upon her spirit. 

Smith. 

Conceit and vanity will never stir 
The calm of her deep, quiet nature. 

We met in England- 

Gentleman. You did meet her, then ? 

Smith. But once, and, feeling that her state and place 
Surpassed my own, I did strive to efface 
My former self, and treat her as indeed, 

The daughter of a king deserved. Small need 
To make the effort, for she seized my hand 
In both her own, as if my presence fanned 
Old memories, and, bursting into tears, 

Said, “ Father ! ” I rebuked her, full of fears 
Lest that her condescension was too great; 

But she, unmindful of her regal state, 

Cried, “ Tell you, then, I will ! Did you not call 
The Great Chief ‘ Father ’ ? Scorned it not at all ? 


Not on her ! 

When 





A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


215 


Now I will call you ‘Father,’ and will be 
Forevermore your countrywoman.” (She 
Will not be spoiled by flattery.) She bent 
Her head in silence, till I did repent 
That I had writ the Queen that she could speak 
The English tongue. 

Then back into her cheek 
The color came. I think her thoughts had turned 
Unto her native woods, and that she yearned 
Towards him, her noble father in the west. 

Gentlemati. A loyal heart. 

Smith . Be it forever blest! 


SCENE II.— Gravesend, England. Deck of the George. 
Enter John Rolfe , Carrying the Form of Pocahontas 
in his Arms. 

Pocahontas. How stalwartly thou liftest me, thy frail 
And worthless burden ! 

Rolfe. Could my love avail, 

You would not need such aid ; yet I would miss 
The dear delight of serving you. 

Pocahontas. Is this 

The forward deck, and doth it face the west ? 


2l6 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Rolfe. Yea, it looks westward. 

Pocahontas. Then may I not rest 

Here, with the sea before me? Lay me down 
And prop my head with pillows. See, thy brown 
Cloak maketh a soft blanket. Let me lie 
And muse a little while. 

Rolfe. Will you not try 

To sleep now ? 

Pocahontas. Nay, I shall have long enough 

To sleep. 

Rolfe. Ah, so you will, if not too rough 

This passage proves, and few strong winds shall blow. 

Pocahontas. It is a further voyage on which I go. 

Rolfe {aside'). This embarkation taxes her beyond 
Her strength, and passing weakness brings some fond, 
Quaint fancy. Dearest, straight before us lies 
The land to which we sail. 

Pocahontas. My earthly eyes 

Will not behold the shore to which my bark 
Must sail to-day. A clearer sight must mark 
Its beauty, and a keener vision prove 
Its outspread loveliness. To-day I move 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


217 


Upon the voyage that each must make alone, 

Yet not alone. 

Rolfe. I am here, dearest ! 

Pocahontas. Stay 

Then close beside me, but upon the way 
Think not there is no other; for the helm 
That steers my vessel to that unknown realm 
Ts guided by a hand that will not let 
My frail bark go adrift. 

Rolfe. Dear heart, forget 

These vagrant thoughts. Sleep, darling, with your head 
Close nestled here ! 

Pocahontas. You know the day I said, 

Four moons ago—was it not that ?—that mid 
The brightness of the court, that did forbid 
All weariness or pain, the gracious smile 
Of your most noble Queen, the sports to while 
Away the time, the splendor, show, and dress, 

Homage from man and flattering caress 
From woman—suddenly amid it all, 

I seemed to hear, or feel, a distant call. 

Was it my ear that heard—my eye that saw ? 

Or did my heart receive what seemed to draw 
My soul away from all that until then 
Had been delight, to listen once again 


218 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


For that strange summons ? 

From, the far-off west 

I thought the cry came, and I found no rest 
Till thou hadst promised that the call should be 
Obeyed. Was it the woods that beckoned me ? 

Was it the genius of my native wild, 

Grown weary for its well-loved, absent child ? 

Was it the river’s call to me, the moan 
Of the great forest, missing me, its own ? 

Or did my father’s noble spirit yearn 
For me, his daughter, craving my return ? 

Oh, had I been in heaven, and had felt 
A call so dear, I would have trembling knelt 
And prayed for leave to go ! Thus did I muse 
And ponder, till thou who didst ne’er refuse 
Aught that my heart did wish for bade me come 
Upon this journey. With the thought of home 
My heart grew bright and glad; but when I drew 
At last near to the sea, behold, I knew ! 

My waiting spirit felt and understood. 

I knew it would not be this surging flood 
Of mighty waters, no, nor any gale 
That blovveth o’er it, that would waft my sail 
Unto its haven; but the deeps profound 
That move unto an unseen shore, whose bound 
Is infinite. 




A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


219 


Rolfe . You mean the cruel tide 

Whose waves return not from the further side; 

That bears our treasures outward, and brings back 
Nor ship, nor weed, nor shell, to tell what track 
Its course has moved in ? Oh, beloved, let 
My tears and prayers avail! Stay, with me yet! 

( Aside .) Her face is growing paler, and her eyes 
Seem not to see me. Oh, my princess, rise 
Once more, and be as you have been, the queen 
Of all my heart and life. 


Pocahontas. Beloved, lean 

A little closer to me; doth thy palm 
Still rest on mine? How fair, how blue, how calm, 
The sea is; so it looked upon the day 
When I, with my young maidens, chanced to stray 
Upon a point of land that jutted far 
Upon the water. Lo !—a pale, white star 
Upon the deep ! Near and more near it drew, 
Wider it spread, tall and more tall it grew, 

Until it seemed a living thing that bowed 
And bent before us; and our lips did hail, 

For the first time, a moving, wondrous sail. 

It brought me—what? Ah, had my heart divined 
What gifts drew near, borne by the sea and wind ! 


220 


THE FIRST FRUITS 


Light for my darkness (0 fair ship that brought 
The precious boon, be with rich blessings fraught, 
Where’er the winds may blow thee !) and the name 
Of One, the Son of God. Through thee they came. 

Rolfe. My love, my own, my princess ! What was 
To bring thee knowledge ? 

(She sleeps .) 

Pocaho?itas. Did I hear a sigh 

Or did I hear a light sail flutter, stirred 
By some soft, gentle breeze ? 

Rolfe. Sleep, dear. You heard 

The canvas overhead. Our ship will leave 
The port within the hour. 

Pocahontas. Dost thou perceive ? 

The sail, the fair white sail, that draweth near ? 

How beautiful the faces do appear 

Of those who man the vessel ! And one form 

Stands—oh, how glorious ! 

(She lies.) 

Rolfe. Far from the storm 

And tempest of our wild, rude waters, pass, 

O my beloved, o’er seas smooth as glass, 


A PRINCESS OF VIRGINIA 


221 


Unto the far port where thy gentle soul 

May find safe anchorage ! Our waves may roll, 

But not o’er thee ! Our raging winds may blow, 
But shall not harm thee ! O beloved, so 
I hail thy happy voyage ! O queen whose throne 
Was in my heart! O pure, bright star that shone 
For me from out the west! My blessing be 
On thee forever. May God give to thee 
The knowledge of Himself, and give thee rest 
Within His presence; let thy lips’ request 
Be not withholden, nor thy heart’s desire; 

And may He lift on thee, like living fire, 

So making thee exceeding glad, the light 
Of His own countenance. And may the night 
No more enwrap thy kindred ; for thy sake 
May all thy people, taught of God, awake 
One day with His own likeness; through His word, 
Behold with thee, the Beauty of the Lord ! 


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